


he's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

by wingchestr



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (in one scene), Anal Sex, Bathtub Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Makkachin is there I swear, Marathon Sex, PWP, Service Sub Victor Nikiforov, Service Submission, Shower Sex, Slice of Life, Smitten Victor Nikiforov, Tender Sex, Top Katsuki Yuuri, and a wicked sense of humor, figure skating what figure skating, they act like newlyweds, they're ridiculous, yuuri has a dirty mouth, yuuri is also smitten, yuuri is loud in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingchestr/pseuds/wingchestr
Summary: Viktor and Yuuri move to St. Petersburg and can’t keep their hands off each other.—The water and the warmth and the closeness is so much, and Viktor wants to be so good for him, give him everything, gather the stars, pluck the moon from the sky for him. In lieu of that, however, he’ll do what he can, here, just the two of them. Because Yuuri is everything, the only thing in the world that matters, the only thing that Viktor cares about so much he would give up just about everything else if it only meant Yuuri, Yuuri.There’s a word for this, Viktor thinks, sinking to his knees, trailing his hands down Yuuri’s slick sides, all lean muscle, circling his slim waist, coming to rest atop his hipbones.Devotion.





	he's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> So originally I intended this to be a 2k smut scene to help me get past some writer’s block on a different project, and 22k words later here we are :)
> 
> I cannot express enough thanks for my incomparable beta [keskasi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/keskasi/pseuds/keskasi)! She’s incredible, she’s the one who suggested I write this in the first place and has been cheering me on every step of the way since then. I literally could not have done it without her. Find her on tumblr at [streetwisehercules.tumblr.com](http://streetwisehercules.tumblr.com) and her nsfw viktuuri sideblog, [sliktordickiforov.tumblr.com](http://sliktordickiforov.tumblr.com).
> 
> The incredibly talented [lovelytitania](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com/) drew art for this fic and I'm crying real tears ;_; <3 see it [here](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com/post/160249086584/your-coach-hmm-viktor-says-concentrating-very) and [here](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com/post/160836548374/lovelytitania-oh-youre-back-yuuri-says)  
> And there's more! Check out [this adorable art](http://lauravian.tumblr.com/post/162098303495/the-bakery-is-a-couple-of-blocks-away-its) by the amazing [lauravian](http://lauravian.tumblr.com); it's so cute I'm screaming :')

Viktor loves Hasetsu. He loves the ocean, the castle that’s really a ninja house, the trees that flower in the spring. He loves biking with Makkachin through the sleepy streets, past the cute touristy shops, greeting the friendly villagers in his limited Japanese.

 

He loves coming back from these walks and soaking in the onsen, eating his fill of good food, being doted on by Yuuri’s family.

 

He loves _Yuuri_ , loves everything about him, the way his eyes sparkle, his adorable excited smile. His thoughtful concentrated face when he’s working on perfecting a jump, the way his messy bangs fall in his face, the way he says Viktor’s name when he wants to show him something. The way he says Viktor’s name late at night, moaning, breathing it out like a prayer, like a blessing.

 

Here's the thing, though: the walls of the onsen are not very thick. Viktor knows this because he can hear when people pass in the hallway outside his room, and low muffled conversations when people are talking in the next room.

 

Here's the other thing: Yuuri is really loud in bed.

 

Which Viktor also loves. Hearing Yuuri lose himself like that, knowing that _he’s_ the one doing that to him — Yuuri is full of surprises, and this one had been an especially gratifying discovery.

 

The first time Viktor had gone down on Yuuri, Yuuri had clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and embarrassed at the sounds coming from his throat, and Viktor had stopped to pull away his hand and kiss him.

 

“Let me hear you,” he said. “I don't care if you wake up the whole building.”

 

“It’s embarrassing,” Yuuri said.

 

“It’s incredible,” Viktor insisted. “You’re so beautiful. I love hearing what I do to you. Knowing that it’s just for me.”

 

And Yuuri had really let himself go, crying out, his hands clenching in Viktor’s hair as Viktor bobbed his head, swallowing around his cock. Yuuri moaned, gasped out Viktor’s name, his breaths filled with expletives and stuttered streams of Japanese that Viktor later asked him to translate. Yuuri did, blushing as he whispered in English, and Viktor learned to his utter delight that Yuuri had a filthy, filthy mouth.

 

Hearing Yuuri fall apart for him is incredible gratifying. He’s never heard anything that sounds so much like pure sex. And the additional bonus that’s coming from _Yuuri_ , Yuuri who is so guarded in public, Yuuri who doesn’t like to let people get close and step into his space — Viktor’s pretty sure that the noises Yuuri makes would be enough to get him off all on their own.

 

(In fact, the only thing he thinks is hotter is when Yuuri tries to muffle his moans against Viktor’s shoulder and inevitably fails, his head tipping back, eyes closing, his breath hot on Viktor’s skin.)

 

What all of this means, though, is that he has to look Katsuki Hiroko in the eyes over breakfast in the morning and wonder if she heard her son crying out his name as Viktor fucked him through the mattress last night.

 

“More tea, Vicchan?” Hiroko asks, smiling, her eyes scrunching up behind her glasses just the way that Yuuri’s do.

 

“Yes please, Mama Katsuki,” Viktor says, holding out his cup for Hiroko to refill it with green tea from the adorable little teapot. It’s green and has subtle white flower patterns around the sides. Viktor wonders if he could get a similar one.

 

Yuuri appears, yawning, looking like he rolled right out of (Viktor’s) bed. He’s got distinctively messy sex hair, and the loose collar of his shirt has fallen to the side to reveal a smattering of hickeys above his collarbone.

 

“’Morning,” Yuuri mumbles, and plops down in his spot next to Viktor.

 

Mari smirks.

 

Viktor sips his tea. It’s hot and it burns his tongue, but it gives him an excuse to not look at anyone in the room.

 

Yuuri’s hand finds his under the table and he laces their fingers together, rubbing light circles into Viktor’s palm with his thumb.

 

Yuuri, Viktor has discovered, really doesn’t care whether his entire family knows that he and Viktor are fucking like rabbits. In general, Viktor is very, very open about his (excellent) sex life, but he still finds it a little uncomfortable that it’s so obvious to his future in-laws exactly what’s going on behind his bedroom door.

 

Not uncomfortable enough for him to alter his behavior, of course. Just uncomfortable enough that he feels it prickling in the back of his neck, bringing a flush to his cheeks. Which on some level he knows is silly. If Yuuri doesn’t care, he reasons, why should he?

 

Still, it’s probably easier to be in Yuuri’s position, to be among members of his family with the “yes I had sex last night” aura all around him than to be in Viktor’s awkward position of “I’m the one he had sex with.”

 

So even though Viktor loves Hasetsu, and Yuuri’s family, and the onsen, he isn’t entirely sad to leave it behind for now. He and Yuuri move to St. Petersburg in the winter after Yuuri wins gold at the Japanese Nationals, and there are definitely some pros to the move that have nothing to do with skating.

  


—

  


The twelve-hour flight is taxing, but it’s much more enjoyable than the last time Viktor traveled between Russia and Japan, when he’d gotten on a plane as soon as possible after Russian Nationals, jumpy and anxious to see Yuuri again after weeks apart. And it’s certainly more enjoyable than the time before that, when he had been alone and worried sick about Makkachin, who was possibly dying, and about Yuuri, whom he’d left behind to face his free skate by himself. This time, Makkachin is safe in his flight carrier, and Yuuri is fitted snugly against his side. They’ve pushed up the armrest between them, effectively turning their seats into a makeshift loveseat, and Yuuri curls into him, dozing off intermittently underneath the blanket pulled over their laps.

 

They watch one of the in-flight movies, sharing earphones, and Viktor quietly translates some of the Russian dialogue. It’s a sappy romantic comedy, with a predictable storyline, but Yuuri laughs a couple of times, which makes the whole thing worthwhile.

 

Two thirds of the way through the movie, Yuuri stops asking questions about the story, and Viktor glances over at him to see that he’s fallen asleep for real, jaw slack, breathing deeply. Viktor slips Yuuri’s glasses off and tucks them away in his own jacket pocket for safekeeping, and finishes watching the movie by himself. He saw the ending coming from a mile away, but the love story still manages to touch Viktor’s heart. He’s always gotten emotional at happy endings.

 

Viktor orders a tiny bottle of champagne and starts a second movie, this time a drama about a struggling car salesman in a small town. He can’t really bring himself to be interested in the man’s fraught relationship with his daughter, however, not when Yuuri’s head is resting on his chest and he can feel every one of his sleep-heavy breaths. Viktor lightly brushes Yuuri’s hair out of his face, tucking a lock under his beanie. His hair is getting longer, and Viktor loves it, loves playing with it, loves combing it for him.

 

He thinks that he’ll never get tired of watching Yuuri sleep. Which is maybe a little creepy, but the truth is that he’ll never get tired of watching Yuuri, period. Yuuri’s demand for Viktor not to take his eyes off of him hadn’t even been necessary, because what else would Viktor possibly be looking at when Yuuri is there? And Yuuri is so peaceful and relaxed as he sleeps, his face open, his limbs loose, that Viktor is absolutely captivated.

 

Anyone who isn’t him, he thinks, is profoundly unlucky, because they will never get to see Yuuri like this on a daily basis — Yuuri waking up in the morning, frowning adorably at the sunlight creeping into the room; Yuuri bursting with excitement after landing a quad flip in practice, swooping across the rink to kiss him; the sweet, gentle way he looks at Viktor sometimes, like he just can’t believe how fortunate he is, which is crazy, because Viktor feels the exact same way.

 

A problem arises about an hour later, when Viktor needs to get up to use the restroom but doesn’t want to disturb Yuuri. He stays there as long as he can, hoping Yuuri will wake up on his own, but Yuuri is really good at sleeping. Eventually, Viktor shakes him awake, earning himself a dissatisfied grunt and a confused, squinty glare.

 

“Sorry, love, but I need to get up,” Viktor says softly, shifting himself out from under Yuuri and standing up as Yuuri settles back into his own seat. It feels great to stretch his legs as he walks down the aisle. There are a couple of people waiting for the restroom, and by the time he gets back Yuuri has pulled his legs up onto the seat, hugging his knees to his chest, the blanket pulled up to his chin. He’s staring blankly at the small screen in front of him, and when Viktor sits back down he tucks himself under Viktor’s arm.

 

“Missed you,” Yuuri mumbles, wrapping an arm around Viktor’s torso.

 

Viktor strokes his back. “I’m here now,” he says. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

 

“Maybe,” Yuuri says, but he sits up and acts interested when Viktor goes to turn the (boring) movie back on.

 

“What’s this about?” he asks, and Viktor explains what he remembers of the plot.

 

Yuuri squints at the screen and rubs his eyes. Then he pats his head, and his pocket, frowning. “Where are my glasses?”

 

Wordlessly, Viktor retrieves them from his own pocket and hands them to him, and Yuuri rewards him with a quick kiss to the cheek.

 

They finish the movie, or Yuuri does, probably — Viktor wakes up a couple of hours later, after a bizarre dream in which Makkachin was flying the plane but didn’t know how to land, to find that the light has changed and it’s darker than it was before. Yuuri is still leaning against him, playing a game on his phone.

 

“How long do we have left?” Viktor asks. His body is starting to ache from sitting in one position for so long.

 

“I can’t read the map information,” Yuuri says, a little sheepishly, so Viktor checks the display to find that they still have nearly three hours.

 

“That’s such a long time, Yuuri,” he complains. “What are we going to do?”

 

“Well, I just reached level 36, so you could congratulate me on that,” Yuuri says, tapping rapidly at his phone screen, which is covered with tiny multicolored jumping figures.

 

“Yuuuuuri,” Viktor coos, leaning in close, moving his arm around to squeeze Yuuri’s side. “That’s such an amazing achievement. How can I reward you?”

 

Yuuri jumps, flushes. “We’re on a plane, Vitya,” he says, his eyes darting to the passenger on his other side, who is fast asleep. “Calm down.”

 

“Are you sure? There’s nothing that you want?”

 

“ _Vitya._ ”

 

Viktor kisses his cheek and sits back. “We’ll just have to celebrate the old fashioned way, then,” he says, and orders two more absurdly tiny bottles of champagne.

  


—

  


When they land in St. Petersburg, it’s snowing lightly, a feathery dusting that coats the sidewalks and rooftops and creates a romantic glow around the streetlights. Viktor is glad that this is how Yuuri gets to see the city for the first time, magical and marvelous.

 

They collect their luggage and Makkachin and pile into the backseat of a cab, where Yuuri presses up against Viktor as though they hadn’t just spent twelve hours sitting together on a plane. Viktor gives the driver his address, and they move slowly through the snowy streets, the sights of the city striking Viktor in a way that’s both familiar and not familiar at the same time. It’s odd; it’s not so much homesickness that he feels, nor homecoming. As long as Yuuri is next to him, that’s where his home is. He’s been home this whole time.

 

“I can’t wait to see your apartment,” Yuuri murmurs, his head resting against Viktor’s shoulder.

 

Viktor kisses the top of his head, laces their fingers together. “I can’t wait for you to see my bed,” he says, voice pitched low, and he feels Yuuri draw in a breath. He doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes Viktor’s hand, and Viktor’s heartbeat speeds up at the thought that Yuuri is just as impatient as he is.

  


—

  


Viktor's apartment is open plan, so his little tour is mostly unnecessary.

 

“This is the living room, and this is the kitchen,” he says, even though Yuuri can very clearly see that for himself. Viktor had shown him pictures, of course, but being there in person is very different, and Yuuri is silent, standing just inside the door, still holding on to the handle of his suitcase, still wearing his coat.

 

Makkachin snuffles around, reacquainting himself with the space, wagging his tail absentmindedly before curling up in his favorite spot on the couch, still groggy from the sedatives from the flight.

 

“That’s the bedroom,” Viktor says, pointing at a door on the other side of the living room. “There’s a bathroom attached and a big closet. The other bathroom is through here,” he points to a short hallway, “with the washing machine and the linen closet. There’s also tiny guest room, which is an office that I never use, but it can be yours if you want it. Makkachin hides his toys in there, I think.” He’s babbling now, as though filling up the air with his words will make Yuuri less silent and Viktor less terrified of what he might say when he finally speaks. “And the view—” Viktor quickly crosses the living room and pulls open the sheer curtains, revealing the really quite excellent view of the St. Petersburg nighttime skyline. “Well, you can see it better in the day, of course, when it’s light outside.”

 

Viktor can see his own reflection in the dark glass, the falsely cheerful facade that he unconsciously projects when he’s nervous or unsure. He really, really wants Yuuri to be happy here. What if he hates it, what if he wants to go back to Japan, what if—

 

“So, what do you think?” Viktor asks, cutting off his own train of thought as he turns towards Yuuri, spreading his arms and smiling widely.

 

Yuuri has let go of his suitcase. He takes his beanie off and crosses the room to Viktor, silently wrapping him in a tight hug.

 

“It’s really nice, Vitya,” he says into the thick material of Viktor’s sweater.

 

“Oh, good,” Viktor says.

 

“I didn’t know you had such a nice kitchen,” Yuuri says, letting go of Viktor so he can wander over and examine the gleaming appliances.

 

“Well, I don’t use it that much, to tell you the truth,” Viktor says, his hands shaking slightly with relief as he hangs up his coat. Viktor is proficient, but not fluent, in the language of cooking.

 

“Vitya, what is _that?”_ Yuuri asks, stopping with his hand on the center island, his gaze fixed on Viktor’s coat.

 

Viktor turns and looks at the coat rack, which sprouts up out of the back of a wooden chair. “It's a designer chair!”

 

Yuuri shakes his head, taking off his scarf as he walks back over to Viktor. “You own a _designer chair_.”

 

“Yeah! Isn't it cool?”

 

Yuuri loops his scarf around Viktor's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “You are ridiculous,” he says. “Can I see the bedroom?”

 

Viktor hangs Yuuri’s coat up over his own before leading him into the bedroom, which is large. The bed is big and white, taking up the center of the room, with a dark wooden headboard and a matching nightstand on each side. There are shelves inset into the wall on either side of the door, facing the foot of the bed, and a large walk-in closet opposite the window, which looks out on the same view that the living room does.

 

“Ta da,” Viktor says, and then collapses onto the bed, sighing as he relaxes into the mattress. It feels indescribably nice to let his tired, aching muscles loosen as he melts into the soft, fluffy duvet and the firm support of the mattress. At the same time, however, it’s a little odd to be here again in his own bedroom after all this time, flopping onto the bed the same way he did so many days after coming home from practice. It feels a little bit like he’s gone back in time, and a worried niggling feeling flutters beneath his breastbone, like he’s missing something. He’s not entirely sure what to do with that, so he cracks his eyes open and grins up at at Yuuri, holding out his arms. “Come here.”

 

Yuuri had been looking around the room, but at Viktor’s words he smiles and crawls onto the bed, slipping easily into Viktor’s embrace. Viktor hums contentedly, kissing the top of Yuuri’s head, closing his eyes again. The worried feeling melts away in the warm glow of contentment that seeps into him through Yuuri. Yuuri thinks the apartment is nice. Yuuri’s not angry, or sad, or upset; he’s not leaving on the first flight back to Japan. That’s more than enough for Viktor, at the moment.

 

“This is a nice bed,” Yuuri says. “I can see why you wanted to show it to me.”

 

“I'm glad you like it,” Viktor says. “It _is_ a nice bed. Very comfortable.” He raises himself up on his elbow, looking down at him. “Not to mention that now we can have as much sex as we want, and I don't have to look your mother in the eyes the next morning and wonder if she heard you screaming my name.”

 

Yuuri covers his face with his hands. “Don't bring my parents into this,” he says, voice muffled. “And I don't scream.”

 

Viktor pulls him into his arms again. “Oh, you absolutely do,” he says. “Want me to prove it?”

 

Yuuri peeks at him through his fingers. “Now?”

 

“We have to inaugurate the bed, Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri puts his hands on the sides of Viktor’s face, punctuating each word with a kiss. “You. Are. Ridiculous.”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“You’re not going to make me scream right now,” Yuuri says.

 

“Alright,” Viktor sighs, letting his head rest on the white bedspread. “What about me?”

 

“What about you?”

 

“Can you make me scream?”

 

“Vitya.”

 

"Yuuri, it's been almost two days," Viktor whines.

 

“Since you screamed? That’s not true. You definitely shrieked when you stepped in that pile of snow outside of the airport because you were too busy looking at me—” he breaks off into laughter as Viktor bowls him over, settling himself on Yuuri’s chest.

 

“Yuuuuuuri. You can’t blame me for being distracted by you,” Viktor says. “You’re very distracting. And you know what I mean,” he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s lips, “about how long it’s been. Far, far too long.”

 

“I have to go shower,” Yuuri says. “I smell gross from the plane.”

 

“I don't care.”

 

“ _I_ do,” Yuuri says, disentangling himself from Viktor’s grasp and standing up, stretching. He turns and looks back over his shoulder, a teasing glint in his eye. “Want to join me?”

 

No other words could have made Viktor get up off the bed so fast. Even if Yuuri had told him there was a fire and they had to leave immediately, he would not have moved so quickly.

  


—

  


Showering with Yuuri is a special kind of blessing. Viktor’s shower is big, set into the corner of the bathroom, with a white-tiled floor and glass walls that stretch to the ceiling. The door swings open on a hinge, and when Yuuri shuts it behind them, it's like they're the only two people in the whole world.

 

They're the only ones in the apartment except for Makkachin, who is still snoozing in the living room. It's kind of amazing, to be alone together in a place that isn't a hotel room. The onsen is wonderful, and Viktor loved it there, but there wasn't much privacy. Not that Viktor usually cares much about privacy, but there are definitely benefits to having Yuuri all to himself.

 

Yuuri tilts his head back, rolling his shoulders, sighing as the hot water pounds against his skin. It’s almost an invitation, and Viktor takes it, stepping closer and placing his hands on his shoulders, rubbing the tense and tired muscles.

 

“That feels good, Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, leaning back into his hands.

 

Viktor massages his shoulders, his neck, the large muscles of his back. He gives good massages; knows from experience how to work out the kinks that develop in these muscles. Not that he would really ever want to massage anyone other than Yuuri. With Yuuri, it’s different. Everything is different.

 

He works his way down Yuuri’s arms, rubbing the tension out of the delicate, strong muscles of his hands. Yuuri relaxes, sagging against him a little like he might fall over if Viktor weren’t there to hold him up.

 

After a little while, the massage devolves into Viktor just running his hands across the expanse of Yuuri’s back, his sides, his stomach. It feels so good to touch him. Viktor reaches for the bodywash, pouring some into his palm and lathering it across Yuuri’s skin with his hands, fingers slipping smoothly across his chest.

 

Yuuri is silent. He raises his arms when Viktor prompts him, stands still as Viktor washes his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Viktor goes slowly, carefully, as though he’s handling the most precious treasure in the world. Which really isn’t far from the truth.

 

He loves doing this, taking care of him, letting him know that he is beloved and adored.

 

“Do you know how perfect you are?” Viktor says quietly, standing in front of Yuuri now, beginning to rinse off the suds that the shower hasn’t already washed away. The pattern of water droplets on his skin is mesmerizing.

 

“Tell me,” Yuuri says, so soft that Viktor almost thinks he imagined it.

 

“Where do I even begin?” Viktor slides his hand down Yuuri’s arm to take his hand. “Maybe here,” he murmurs, raising Yuuri’s hand to his lips to kiss each finger, lingering extra long over his ring.

 

Yuuri’s gaze is steady. Water droplets fall off his eyelashes. “Tell me,” he says again, demanding, holding eye contact.

 

Viktor would have tripped over his own feet if he weren’t standing still. Heat runs through him in a swift rush, and his other hand, resting on Yuuri’s waist, feels like it will surely sear a handprint into his skin.

 

“You are a miracle, Yuuri,” he says. “Your body is a miracle, this strong, beautiful, competent body. So powerful, so graceful.” He runs his hands back up to Yuuri’s shoulders before dragging his fingers down across his chest. “I love being the one who gets to take care of you.”

 

“Good,” Yuuri says, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. His bangs are sticking to his forehead, and Viktor pushes them back, the weight of the water slicking them down.

 

The body wash is mostly gone, but Viktor still can’t stop touching him. He pushes Yuuri against the wall, gently, stepping in close, exploring every inch of his skin. Yuuri licks his lips, and his mouth is so tempting, lips parted and perfect, but Viktor doesn’t kiss him, not yet, because if he starts kissing him he won’t be able to stop, and he’s not done talking yet.

 

“I want to taste you,” Viktor says into his ear instead, the words tumbling off his tongue, heavy and sensual, and it doesn’t matter that he’s not being entirely coherent. “I love the way you feel. My Yuuri. Show you how much I care.”

 

The water and the warmth and the closeness is so much, and Viktor wants to be so good for him, give him everything, gather the stars, pluck the moon from the sky for him. In lieu of that, however, he’ll do what he can, here, just the two of them. Because Yuuri is everything, the only thing in the world that matters, the only thing that Viktor cares about so much he would give up just about everything else if it only meant Yuuri, Yuuri.

 

There’s a word for this, Viktor thinks, sinking to his knees, trailing his hands down Yuuri’s slick sides, all lean muscle, circling his slim waist, coming to rest atop his hipbones.

 

Devotion.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes, and Viktor leans his head against Yuuri’s hip, trying to collect himself, breathing hot against Yuuri’s skin, inhaling him. The water of the shower pounds against him, but it’s his blood that’s roaring in his ears.

 

“Do you mind?” Viktor says, still trying to hold himself back, because even though all he wants right now is to have Yuuri in his mouth, feel the heat and the taste of him, Yuuri hadn’t said that he wants this. He’s hard, though, which Viktor takes as a good sign.  

 

“Do I _mind?”_ Yuuri repeats, sounding incredulous and incredibly turned on. “Fuck, Vitya.”

 

“Let me,” Viktor says, panting a little, “let me take care of you.”

 

“Yes,” Yuuri says, and that’s all the prompting Viktor needs to close his lips around Yuuri’s cock. He flicks his tongue across the head, circling it, before taking him further into his mouth, heavy against the flat of his tongue.

 

“God,” Yuuri says, his head knocking back against the wall, his hand scrabbling at the tiles for purchase.

 

Viktor pulls off and goes slower, now that he’s had a taste, holding on to Yuuri’s hips as he runs his tongue down his length, licking a wet stripe on skin that’s already wet from the shower. Yuuri shivers, hissing out a breath between his teeth. He likes it when Viktor teases him a little, and Viktor wants to savor this; it’s Yuuri’s first blow job in his new home, Viktor wants it to be good for him.

 

The shower plasters Viktor’s hair to his face and Yuuri pushes it back off his forehead, running his fingers through the wet strands. Viktor looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering as Yuuri’s dick bumps against his open lips, slick and shiny from his spit and the shower.

 

“I want to see you,” Yuuri explains, and Viktor hums deep in his throat, curling his tongue around Yuuri’s cock before taking him into his mouth again, and Yuuri chokes out a curse in Japanese, tangling his fingers in Viktor’s hair.

 

“Do you even know what you do to me,” Yuuri says, ragged, breathing harshly, and well, Viktor probably has _some_ idea, but he still wants to hear Yuuri say it, needs to hear exactly how good he makes Yuuri feel.

 

“Your perfect mouth around my dick, it’s _obscene_ ,” Yuuri says, the word stuttering off into a gasp as Viktor hollows his cheeks and sucks.  

 

“And when you ask if I _mind_ , like this is something I'm doing for _you_ , acting like you’re going to die if you have to wait another second, you’re so desperate for me,” Yuuri says, his hand fisting in Viktor’s hair and _pulling_ , which Viktor likes a lot. Yuuri’s absolutely right, Viktor _is_ desperate for him, and he wants to tell him how good he is but he doesn’t want to stop, so he settles for moaning around Yuuri’s cock, a broken, needy sound that makes Yuuri’s hips buck forward.

 

“S-sorry,” Yuuri says, and Viktor doesn’t mind, he’d be more than happy to let Yuuri fuck his face if he wanted, but there’s something about doing all the work and just giving, giving, that he utterly _loves_. Yuuri doesn’t have to do anything at all, because Viktor’s here to do it for him.

 

This isn’t the finest blow job he’s ever given, either, he’s sloppy with want and drooling around Yuuri’s cock, but he’s too far gone to try and bring it back now. Viktor tries to swallow, but his mouth is too full. The movement of his throat makes Yuuri cry out, high pitched and urgent, his hand finding Viktor’s hand on his left hip and tangling their fingers together, wet and slick and slipping against each other.

 

Viktor moves his other hand to cup Yuuri’s balls, which is a good idea, judging from the way Yuuri’s breath stutters out between his teeth when Viktor massages them. Normally, he would use his mouth to lavish attention on them, go slower, take his time, but he selfishly doesn’t want to take Yuuri’s cock out of his mouth, wants to choke on him until he can’t _breathe._

 

It’s messy and needy and he’s making no effort to disguise his hunger, reveling in the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth against Yuuri’s dick. And Yuuri certainly seems to be enjoying it, if the noises he’s making are anything to go by, little whines and broken, gasping moans.

 

“Faster, Vitya, _please_ ,” he begs, and Viktor obliges, increasing his pace, bobbing his head, his mouth slack and loose to accommodate the weight of Yuuri’s solid cock.

 

“I wonder,” Yuuri gasps out, “when we’re doing interviews, if people ever imagine you like this, sucking my dick in the shower, so messy just from how hot and needy I get you.”

 

Viktor whimpers, letting go of Yuuri’s hip to press the heel of his hand against his own cock, groaning at the pressure.

 

“They must know you do it,” Yuuri continues, his hips stuttering slightly, “everyone knows we’re engaged, but do you think they look at your flawless, presentable face and think of you like this, flushed, wrecked, burning up, getting off just by sucking me off— ah—” he tips his head back against the wall, swallowing hard, but the words just keep spilling out of him, and Viktor can’t handle it, shamelessly stroking himself now as he presses his tongue to the underside of Yuuri’s cock. He takes him in as deep as he can, which is pretty deep, and Yuuri’s voice goes high and breathy, clutching tighter at Viktor’s hair.

 

“I didn’t let myself imagine it for a long time,” Yuuri continues, sounding devastated, “the longest time, because I knew it would be the end of me, if I thought about what it might be like to have your hot mouth on me, but then I did imagine it, and God, Vitya, I never came so hard in my life, as when I thought of you. Ah, ah, but that was nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a fucking wet dream, Vitya, you’re so _good_ —”

 

Viktor moans, heat curling low in his belly, rushing through his blood. He does that thing with his tongue that Yuuri dies for, twisting it just so, and Yuuri almost screams, his hand jerking in Viktor’s hair as his body bows forward over Viktor, curling in on himself.

 

“Oh- Vi- _ah_ , _Vitya_ , I'm gonna—”

 

He tries to pull away, but Viktor stays right where he is as Yuuri comes in his mouth in hot spurts that Viktor swallows down, because he wants to and he can.

 

When he finally pulls off and and looks up, Yuuri is staring down at him, something like awe on his face.

 

“Jesus,” Yuuri whispers.

 

Viktor grins up at him lewdly. “Welcome to Russia.”

 

Yuuri slides down the wall to join him on the floor of the shower, hot water still raining down on them.

 

“That was incredible,” Yuuri says, before reaching for Viktor’s face and kissing him sweet and deep. He shifts a little closer and touches Viktor’s cock, stroking him a couple of times. “Can I help with this?”

 

Viktor bites his lip and nods frantically, because Yuuri touching him feels so good he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

 

“Do you want my mouth?”

 

“No,” Viktor gasps, because there’s no way he’s going to last long enough for that, he’s so close as it is, “just like this,” and he covers Yuuri’s hand with his own, guiding him just right, and in less than a minute he’s coming as well, release punching through him as he gasps and spills over their hands. Yuuri leans forward and kisses him, and Viktor welcomes him into his mouth, gentle and intimate, his hand coming up to cradle Yuuri’s head.

 

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs against Yuuri’s lips, and it’s kind of funny how that can still make Yuuri blush.

 

They clean off again, as soon as they both can stand, and turn the shower off, stepping out into the cloud of steam that fills the bathroom.

 

Yuuri wraps a fluffy towel around his waist and Viktor leans over him, sucking the droplets of clean water from the nape of his neck. Yuuri sighs softly and arches into him, tilting his head forward to give Viktor more access as Viktor mouths over the knobs of his spine.

 

“Mm, Vitya,” Yuuri says, his movements slow and relaxed, and Viktor’s never going to get tired of hearing him say his name, ever.

 

He is getting a little cold, though, so he breaks away from Yuuri to dry himself off.

 

They dig clean clothes out of their suitcases without bothering to unpack. That’s a job for tomorrow. Viktor pulls on a pair of soft pajama pants, and then goes to hang up their towels in the bathroom. When he gets back, Yuuri is lying against the pillows at the head of the bed, wearing a loose t-shirt over his boxer briefs. His glasses are on top of his head, pushing his damp, tousled bangs away from his face.

 

“Are you hungry?” Viktor asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

“Yes,” Yuuri says, crawling over to him, his glasses sliding down to rest low on his nose with the movement.

 

“What do you want to eat?”

 

“Hmm,” Yuuri says, nibbling at the shell of Viktor’s ear. His close, hot breath sends chills down Viktor’s spine. “I think I’m in the mood for Russian.”

 

Viktor turns and tackles Yuuri to the bed, tickling his sides, and Yuuri shrieks with laughter.

 

“Yuuri, you _fiend_ ,” Viktor says, hovering over him on all fours. “You’re insatiable.”

 

Yuuri licks his lips, his pink tongue poking out, and Viktor swoops down to catch it. Yuuri wriggles underneath him, leaning up to kiss Viktor deeper as their tongues slide slickly together.

 

“I actually am hungry, though,” Yuuri says, after they break apart.

 

Viktor sits back onto Yuuri’s lap. “We can get take out.”

 

There are a couple of good restaurants nearby that deliver, and Viktor places their order over the phone while Yuuri wanders around the living room, examining Viktor’s collection of souvenirs from his years on the competitive circuit. Makkachin bounds over to him, a ball in his mouth.

 

“Oh, good boy,” Yuuri coos. “Did you find your ball?”

 

Makkachin drops it at his feet and pants excitedly.

 

“I bet you missed it while you were in Hasetsu, huh?” Yuuri says, scratching behind Makkachin’s ears.

 

Viktor forgets what he’s saying to the person on the other end of the phone. She has to ask him several times if he’s still there before he remembers that he’s supposed to be talking to someone.

 

After he hangs up, he throws his coat on to take Makkachin for a quick walk around the block. He fastens the leash onto his collar, and is making sure that he has his keys when Yuuri comes over next to him, wearing sweatpants now, fastening up his coat.

 

“You don’t have to come with me, love,” Viktor says, pausing to press a quick kiss to Yuuri’s temple. “It’s cold out. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

 

“I know,” Yuuri says, taking his scarf down from the coat rack and wrapping it around his neck. “I’d like to.”

 

Something light spills over inside of Viktor and he beams at Yuuri, offering him his hand. Yuuri smiles a little shyly and takes it.

 

It is quite cold outside, and still snowing lightly. Viktor is glad that Makkachin only has enough energy for a short walk tonight. He feels buoyed up by Yuuri’s presence at his side, though, warmer for Yuuri’s gloved hand linked through the crook of his arm.  

 

“Is this where you usually walk him, when it’s late?” Yuuri asks, his breath coming in a white puff as he glances across the street.

 

“Sometimes,” Viktor says. “I prefer to walk him in the morning, usually. He likes to go on runs along the river.”

 

“He liked running along the ocean in Hasetsu, too.”

 

“He did,” Viktor says, thinking with a small pang of the warm sun and cool rain of Hasetsu, the ocean glinting in the sunlight. The cries of the gulls. The sounds of home.

 

“I can’t wait to go on runs with the two of you here,” Yuuri says, catching Viktor off guard. Viktor turns to look at him, and Yuuri smiles, his nose red from the cold, melted snowflakes creating a pattern of water droplets on his glasses.

 

“What?” he asks, when Viktor keeps staring.

 

“Nothing,” Viktor says, leaning in to kiss Yuuri’s cold nose. Yuuri, always surprising him. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”

 

“Me too,” Yuuri says, squeezing his arm. “I’m really cold right now, though.”

 

“We’re almost back,” Viktor says, looking ahead, relief flooding through him at the sight of the entrance to the building only a few meters away. It really is far too cold, and he’d been so warm and relaxed from their shower together.

 

There’s time to get warm and relaxed again, he supposes.

 

Yuuri heaves a happy sigh when they get back into the apartment, shrugging off his coat in the sudden warmth. Makkachin waits patiently while Viktor unclips the leash from his collar, and then goes into the kitchen to examine the state of his food dish.

 

“Wait, Makka, don’t worry,” Viktor says, laughing a little, and he goes to retrieve the bag of dog food he’d packed in his suitcase. He’ll make sure to buy more tomorrow, but this will be enough for a couple of days, just in case.

 

He fills up Makkachin’s bowl and gives him more water as well, and then puts the rest of the bag of food away in the cupboard. When he turns around, Yuuri is perched on the back of the couch, watching him, back in his sleep clothes again, just his t-shirt and boxer briefs. Viktor can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat, just a bit.

 

The food arrives shortly after, and Viktor throws his coat on again over his pajama pants to run downstairs and get it. Yuuri has settled himself on the couch by the time he gets back, Makkachin curled up next to him, one hand carding lazily through the poodle’s curly fur.

 

They don’t even bother to move to the table, instead just eating straight out of the cardboard take out containers, sitting cross-legged, grinning stupidly at each other.

 

Outside, the wind has picked up, and the light, powdery snow from earlier has become harsher, whipped into twisting, undulating shapes in the air. Inside, though, it’s warm, and Viktor, watching Yuuri picking the last bit of rice out of his container, thinks that he’ll never feel cold again.

 

Exhaustion hits him all at once after he finishes eating, and he’s so glad that there are no dishes to wash, and all they have to do to clean up is throw away the empty containers. It’s barely 8 pm, but Viktor doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay awake for another minute. He brushes his teeth in a daze, and collapses onto the bed, nearly drifting off by the time Yuuri comes back from the bathroom.

 

He feels Yuuri pause at the edge of the bed, then the mattress dips as Yuuri climbs on and drops down next to Viktor.

 

“Vitya, you’re not even under the covers.”

 

Viktor cracks open his eyes, soft and sleepy, to see Yuuri looking down at him, his hand propping up his chin, indescribable fondness on his face.

 

“I was waiting for you,” Viktor mumbles.

 

Yuuri strokes Viktor’s hair, pushing it out of his face. “Well, you’re going to have to stand up,” he says.

 

“No,” Viktor says, refusing to move until Yuuri gets up and hauls him to his feet. He sways slightly, wrapping his arms around Yuuri from behind as Yuuri pulls the duvet down so they can crawl in between the sheets. Viktor _adores_ the feeling of Yuuri in his arms, his body compact and muscular, slight but so powerful. Strong enough to carry Viktor and support all of him.  

 

Viktor’s whole body relaxes again as soon as he hits the mattress, and Yuuri slides in by his side. Viktor turns towards him immediately, like he’s a magnet, pressing small kisses to the side of his head, nosing his hair, wrapping his wandering hands around him. He feels that sweet, slow lust that he associates with being very tired, the heady smell of Yuuri’s clean, warm skin so close to him.

 

“Hang on,” Yuuri says, and folds his glasses, placing them on the bedside table. He reaches over Viktor to turn off the light.

 

Viktor snakes his arms around Yuuri’s waist, pulling him down on top of him and gently kissing his ear.

 

“Do you still want some Russian?” he asks, low and dirty.

 

Yuuri draws in a breath and moves his head so that he can kiss him slow and deep, hands on Viktor’s bare chest.

 

“I think you're too tired,” Yuuri says in between kisses, smirking at him in the darkness.

 

“’M not.”

 

“You can barely keep your eyes open.”

 

“I want you,” Viktor murmurs against Yuuri’s soft skin.

 

“I don't think you would even enjoy it,” Yuuri says. “Look at you. You're falling asleep.”

 

“Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuri.”

 

Yuuri moves down to kiss Viktor’s jaw, his neck, latching on and _sucking_ , and Viktor’s hips jerk, surprised.

 

“Guess it’s my job to keep you awake, then,” Yuuri says, a shadow above him in the dark room, before his mouth returns to Viktor’s neck, sucking another hickey into his skin, licking and nipping against the bruise he’s created, a big one this time, and high enough that it’s definitely going to show for the next week. Viktor makes some kind of breathy sound at the thought that people will see the evidence of Yuuri’s mouth on him, know that he’s been owned.

 

“Mmm, you like that?” Yuuri asks, running a thumb over Viktor’s abused skin, drawing a gasp out of him. Yuuri knows full well that Viktor _does_ like it, a lot, so Viktor just slides his hand up to the back of Yuuri’s head and guides Yuuri’s greedy mouth back down onto his neck.

 

“I love it when everyone knows that I’m yours,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s mouth is occupied, but he still makes an involuntary sound in the back of his throat that goes straight to Viktor’s dick.

 

In fact, he’s pretty hard already. It’s incredibly obvious in his loose pants, and he wants to touch himself but he wants Yuuri to touch him more.

 

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he gasps out, and Yuuri breaks away from his neck to press a hard kiss to his lips.

 

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you, Vitya?” he asks. “That would be so rude.”

 

Viktor makes a high, needy noise, leaning up to find Yuuri’s lips again, but Yuuri pulls away further.

 

“If you do fall asleep,” Yuuri says, pressing his finger to Viktor’s lips, “I’ll be hurt. So hurt, I don’t think I’ll want to have sex for a week.”

 

Viktor kisses Yuuri’s finger, sucks the tip of it into his mouth, and Yuuri drags it away, leaving a wet trail across Viktor’s cheekbone.

 

“I won’t,” Viktor promises, “I won’t fall asleep,” and really, even though his body is exhausted, sleep is the farthest thing from his mind right now.

 

Yuuri hums, as though he’s considering. “You’d better be telling the truth,” he says, leaning down to kiss Viktor again, and Viktor arches up into him, taking everything that Yuuri is giving. He breaks away far too soon, in Viktor’s opinion, rolling away off of Viktor's body, but Viktor follows him, chasing his mouth, so that they end up on their sides, chest to chest as Viktor pulls Yuuri close.

 

Yuuri certainly doesn’t seem reluctant, with the way he’s pushing his tongue into Viktor’s mouth. Viktor’s hands travel down Yuuri’s back to squeeze his pert ass, and Yuuri groans into Viktor’s mouth, hooking a leg over his thigh and pulling him closer, grinding against his crotch. A rush runs through Viktor as he feels that Yuuri is hard, too, and he bites at his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. His hands find the hem of Yuuri’s shirt, and he rucks it up, sliding his hands up the warm expanse of Yuuri’s back.

 

“What happened to you being so tired you couldn’t even get into the bed?” Yuuri’s laughing a little, and Viktor growls slightly, his hand on Yuuri’s ass again, pulling him forward as he rolls his hips against him. Yuuri moans at the contact, and his fingers flutter against the waistband of Viktor’s pajama pants, dipping under the elastic, teasing. But instead of pulling them down, Yuuri snaps the waistband against his hip and moves his hand to cup Viktor’s cock through the fabric, grinning when Viktor bucks forward.

 

“Does that feel good, Vitenka?” Yuuri asks, that teasing lilt still in his voice, moving his hand further away when Viktor thrusts against him again, so that it’s just the barest brush of friction.

 

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor whines, and kisses him sloppily, open mouthed, annoyed and aroused. “Don’t be a tease.”

 

“I never got a chance to properly pay you back for earlier,” Yuuri says, whispering in his ear. “Would you like that?”

 

“Anything,” Viktor says, because he could come like this, with Yuuri touching him through his pants, but if Yuuri wants to do more, he’s not going to say no.

 

Yuuri pushes Viktor onto his back and kisses his way down his chest, pausing to circle his nipple with his tongue, making Viktor arch and writhe underneath him.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says again, the only word he can repeat with any consistency, but Yuuri continues his agonizingly slow pace, his hands hot on Viktor’s sides, his thumbs fitting into the jut of Viktor’s hipbones. When Yuuri reaches the waistband of Viktor’s pants, he doesn’t stop, but mouths at Viktor’s cock through the fabric, his eyes closed.

 

Viktor trembles, focusing very hard on not thrusting up into Yuuri’s face.

 

“Yuuri, Yuuri, _please_.”

 

“Patience, Vitenka,” Yuuri says, hooking his thumbs under Viktor’s waistband. He mouths at his cock again, and Viktor can feel his hot breath through the thin fabric, and he whines, desperate.

 

Yuuri pulls his pants down in one smooth motion, scooting down the bed to get them all the way off Viktor’s legs. He hadn’t been wearing anything underneath them, so he’s completely naked now.

 

“God, Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, staring, trailing his hands back up Viktor’s thighs.

 

Yuuri still has underwear and a shirt, but before Viktor can complain about this unfair state of affairs, Yuuri is between his legs, urging his thighs apart, moving down to press open-mouthed kisses to his balls.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor manages, more like a prayer this time. Viktor isn’t a particularly religious man, but Yuuri’s mouth could make him believe in a higher power. Yuuri mouths at the base of Viktor’s dick before pressing his tongue to it and licking up his length, slowly, so slowly, God, Viktor’s going to die, and he tells Yuuri this, although he thinks it may have come out in Russian. Yuuri moves away and kisses the inside of his thigh instead, biting gently at the tense muscle, sucking.

 

“Are you feeling sleepy, Vitya?” Yuuri asks, before moving down and sucking at another spot on his inner thigh, his fingers teasing across Viktor’s balls.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor begs, “pleaseplease I need you, _Yuuri_ ,” but Yuuri isn’t done, moving to add a hickey high up on Viktor’s other thigh, hands pushing his legs farther apart. Viktor whines and throws his head back, gripping the sheet so that he doesn’t pull Yuuri’s hair.

 

Finally, finally, Yuuri’s hand circles the base of his cock and he flicks his tongue across the head of it, back and forth, and Viktor chokes, gasping, needy and desperate. Yuuri takes him into the wet heat of his mouth, pumping him slowly with his hand at the same time, and Viktor cries out, something that’s almost a word? but not quite, not in any of the languages he speaks.

 

Yuuri works him slowly, setting a pace that absolutely torments Viktor. When he puts his hand on Yuuri’s head, fingers in his soft hair, Yuuri swirls his tongue as though to reward him, and Viktor’s knees draw up as he groans.

 

It’s excruciatingly drawn-out, but Yuuri knows what he’s doing, and the waves of pleasure build up slow and intense, settling low in his gut, tightening, leaving Viktor a moaning, trembling wreck.

 

And ah, he’s getting close, but he doesn’t want Yuuri so far away, he wants to see him, touch him, breath him in—

 

“YuuriYuuriYuuriYuuriYuuri,” Viktor says, urgent, tugging at him, and Yuuri pulls off with an obscene noise. “Wanna kiss you,” Viktor says, and Yuuri crawls up the bed to kiss him with those same lips, spit-slick and swollen. Viktor moans, and Yuuri grinds down against him, drawing out another heavy sound.

 

There’s still a layer of fabric separating them, which should be illegal. Viktor finds the hem of Yuuri’s t-shirt, pushing it all the way up his chest, and Yuuri sits up and pulls it off, tossing it to the side, before falling back onto Viktor as quickly as he can. Viktor lets his hands roam over the bare skin of Yuuri’s torso, reaching under the waistband of his underwear to grip his ass as Yuuri rocks his hips, moving against him. “Off,” he says, tugging at the elastic of Yuuri’s boxer briefs. “Wanna feel you.”

 

Yuuri grunts, lifting his hips to impatiently pull them down his legs and kick them off.

 

They both gasp when their cocks slide together, and Viktor thrusts up against him immediately, unable to help himself, because it feels so _good_ , Yuuri is so _perfect_ , and he realizes that he’s babbling in Russian, but he doesn’t even care as Yuuri plants his knees between Viktor’s open thighs, leaning over him, and takes them both in his hand, working them together. The only thing Viktor can think of is moving with Yuuri, the friction, the pressure as he thrusts against him. Yuuri is pressing kisses to his mouth with every breath, all heat and need.

 

“Yuuri, you’re incredible,” Viktor says, mouth running on its own, as Yuuri kisses the corner of his lips, “you’re so good, so good to me, I love you so much,” and that’s all he can say anymore, repeating “I love you, I love you,” his breath hitching almost with sobs as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

 

He sees stars when he comes, spurting hot onto their stomachs, and his breath is so loud in his ears that he can’t hear anything else for a minute while he comes back to his body. Yuuri kisses him through it, murmuring praise against his lips, and then he moves down to rut close and filthy against Viktor’s thigh, straddling his leg, leaning almost all of his weight against him as he grinds his hips back and forth.

 

Viktor reaches for him, touching the side of his face, and Yuuri turns into his hand, his face slack, his eyes rolling back, and then he comes too, adding to the mess on Viktor’s stomach and thighs.

 

He collapses to the side, and they lie there for a minute, breathing heavily. Viktor’s limbs feel loose and heavy, so heavy, like he couldn’t move them if he tried. It’s hard to keep his eyes open, and he lets them close, sighing, already drifting away.

 

“Hey.” Yuuri pokes him in the side, and Viktor opens his eyes with effort. “You’re not asleep, are you?”

 

“Of course not,” Viktor rumbles, gathering Yuuri close to him. “You were so good, my love.”

 

“So were you,” Yuuri breathes out, resting his head against Viktor’s chest. Viktor would be content to stay like that forever, but after a minute Yuuri shifts and sits up.

 

“We should clean up,” Yuuri says, in response to Viktor’s disgruntled noise.

 

“In a minute,” Viktor says, but he really has no intention of moving ever again, and it’s up to Yuuri to get a warm washcloth from the bathroom and wipe them down, throwing it in the direction of the hamper before cuddling up next to Viktor and pulling the duvet up to their chins. Viktor is half asleep already, but he still drapes his arm over Yuuri, comforted by his warmth and constant, steady breath.

 

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, and Yuuri kisses him lightly before tucking his head under Viktor’s chin, his arm wrapped around his waist.

  


—

  


Viktor wakes up several hours later, eyes snapping open suddenly in the darkness. The clock on the bedside table says it’s nearly 1 am, and Viktor knows himself well enough to know that he won’t be able to go back to sleep any time soon. He’s always had a hard time with jet lag; the six hour time difference between Hasetsu and St. Petersburg isn’t the worst he’s dealt with, but it’s still enough to disrupt his internal clock.

 

Yuuri is asleep beside him, and Viktor looks at him for a minute, his dark hair soft against the pillow, his hand curled gently next to his face. He’s amazed, as he always is, that he gets to wake up next to Yuuri, that Yuuri is here, with him, that this is somehow his life.

 

Viktor kisses Yuuri’s forehead and rolls out of bed, padding naked into the bathroom.

 

One of Viktor’s favorite things about his apartment is the bathroom, because it features a wall-to-wall bathtub almost the size of a small pool. He uses the dimmer switch by the door to set the overhead lights to a soft glow, because it’s the middle of the night and he’s not ready for any full, bright lighting. Then he turns the water on and sits on the elegant edge of the tub as he waits for it to fill, shivering at the cold porcelain against his bare skin.

 

He runs it hot, how he likes it, and when the tub is halfway full he steps in, goosebumps running across his body at the delightful change in temperature. The water is like a warm embrace, and Viktor sinks into it as the tub continues to fill, the water slowly rising to cover him.

 

When it’s full enough, he shuts the tap off and lays back, resting his head against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes with a sigh. His body is tired, and it’s so nice to rest and relax in the warmth, with nothing to worry about. Soon, his training schedule will start, and he and Yuuri will both be busy every day, but right now, there’s nothing to do but lie here and let his mind wander languidly.

 

He used to hate letting his mind wander, but he doesn’t mind it so much, now.

 

He’d loved living in the place where Yuuri grew up, but he thinks that maybe he loves this even more — Yuuri moving into his apartment, _their_ apartment, because they share it now, and that’s enough to make Viktor feel light and buoyant enough that he thinks he might simply float away. Technically, they’ve been living together for eight months, but it still feels new and different and amazing to have a place that the two of them call home.

 

There’s a whisper as the door opens and Viktor opens his eyes, turning his head to see Yuuri enter the room. He hasn’t bothered to put on his glasses, Viktor notes, filing away the image of messy-bedhead-newly-awoken-naked Yuuri for further examination later.

 

“Hey,” Yuuri says, smiling softly. “Mind if I join you?”

 

In answer, Viktor lifts his hand out of the water and reaches out towards him, beckoning him over.

 

Yuuri grins and crosses the room, climbing into the tub with Viktor. Viktor sits up and scoots over to make room for him, but instead Yuuri sinks down onto his lap, straddling him, his knees on either side of Viktor’s hips. He lazily links his fingers behind Viktor’s neck, and Viktor smiles at this angel resting on his thighs.

 

“This is a huge bathtub,” Yuuri says, and even though he must have just woken up, he’s giving Viktor intense bedroom eyes, all dark and edged with desire. Viktor feels his gaze like actual heat on his skin, bringing a flush to his face that spreads down his neck and across his chest as his blood runs hot.

 

“It was custom made,” Viktor says, his hands finding Yuuri’s hips.

 

“I like it.”

 

Viktor hums, rubbing his thumb across Yuuri’s hipbone. “It's not as big as the onsen.”

 

“But you know what we couldn't do in the onsen?” Yuuri rolls his hips forward in a slow thrust against Viktor, the dark heat in his eyes giving absolutely no doubts about his meaning. Viktor raises an eyebrow, intrigued by this turn of events.

 

“God, Vitya, do you know how hard it was for me?” Yuuri continues, leaning forward to speak low in Viktor’s ear. “Every time we bathed together, and I got to see you so _perfect,_ beautiful and naked, and all I wanted to do was touch you, but there were always people watching, and I had to keep my hands to myself because that's against the rules —”

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor manages, a flush of heat running through his body, because Yuuri had always seemed so _normal_ in the onsen, and Viktor had assumed he was simply used to bathing in a communal space without a sexual connotation. Now, running back through all the memories of the times they spent there after a long day of practice at the rink, imagining the lust and frustration boiling under Yuuri’s skin — it’s enough to send Viktor’s blood rushing south fast enough to leave him slightly dizzy.

 

Yuuri rolls his hips again, and Viktor moves a hand from Yuuri’s hip to his cock, stroking him, feeling him harden further, his other hand on the back of Yuuri’s firm thigh encouraging Yuuri to thrust forward into his hand.

 

Yuuri gives a shuddering sigh, his hips snapping forward, and his face in that moment is enough to fuel Viktor’s fantasies for the next month, flushed and blissful and filled with _want_. The bathwater sloshes around them as Yuuri allows himself to fall into a rhythm, but he keeps talking, and Viktor wonders why on Earth he didn’t install a bathtub in his room back in Hasetsu, if this is how Yuuri reacts.

 

“And when you would put your arm around me when we were in the onsen,” Yuuri says, “or put your hand on my thigh, Vitya, and I had to take it _off—_ ” his words are punctuated by small gasps and moans now — “because if I let you keep touching me I wouldn't have been able to restrain myself, and I _had_ to restrain myself. I thought I was going to _die.”_ He leans forward to kiss Viktor sloppily, his mouth wet and greedy. “Can you imagine,” he says, hips rocking, the water moving between them as he grinds down on top of Viktor’s cock, his voice dark and low and ruined, “if someone had found us out there? I wouldn't have been able to look my parents in the eyes ever again. That was what I repeated to myself as I watched you. It's the only thing that held me back. God, you're so _hot_ , Vitya, you get me so hot—”

 

“What did you want to do to me?” Viktor says, knowing he sounds like a complete wreck, but he’s so entranced by the way Yuuri is moving against him, writhing obscenely in his lap, thrusting into Viktor’s hand.

 

Yuuri mouths at the shell of Viktor’s ear, bites gently. “I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for you, suck you off right there in the open. I wanted you in my lap, fucking yourself on my cock, and the water would hide things but it would be so obvious what we were doing, Vitya, no one would be fooled at all. This, what we’re doing right now, I wanted to do this—”

 

Viktor feels those words deep in his stomach, a hot tingling rush of need. He groans, squeezing around Yuuri’s dick, his fingers gripping Yuuri’s thigh.

 

“You’re so perfect, Yuuri,” he says, twisting his thumb over the head of Yuuri’s cock, and Yuuri keens, tipping his head back. Viktor takes the opportunity to kiss his neck, sucking on the sensitive spot right below his jaw, and Yuuri gasps, his hips stuttering. His hand finds the back of Viktor’s head and holds him there, his fingers scratching lightly through Viktor’s hair as Yuuri tips his head to the side to give him more access. This spot, Viktor knows, is connected straight to Yuuri’s dick, and sure enough Yuuri speeds up, his gasps getting louder until he’s crying out with every thrust. He’s _loud_ , abandoning all pretense of control, and Viktor loves it.

 

He lets go of Yuuri’s thigh and reaches up to trace his face, running his thumb over his cheekbone, his wet fingers slipping across Yuuri’s sweaty skin. Yuuri turns his head to the side and sucks Viktor’s index finger into his hot mouth, his tongue wet and skillful, and Viktor’s breath hitches.

 

“Yuuri,” he breathes, and Yuuri moans around his finger, rutting into Viktor’s other hand. “You’re so beautiful,” Viktor says, voice hushed, and Yuuri makes a needy noise in the back of his throat, letting Viktor’s finger slip out of his mouth as his eyes flutter shut. He plants a hand against Viktor’s chest, bracing himself, and Viktor moves his own hand to the back of Yuuri’s neck, holding him as his rhythm intensifies.

 

“Are you going to come for me, Yuuri?” Viktor says, and he can feel the heat in his voice, how low and broken he must sound, but seeing Yuuri like this, sweaty, disheveled, eyes slipping shut — he gets off on it so much, knowing that Yuuri can lose himself like this, that _he’s_ the one to make Yuuri feel this way.

 

Yuuri moans in response, loose and undone — he’s really close now, Viktor can tell — and Viktor continues, “Go ahead, spill it everywhere. There's no one here to find us now. Come on, get me as dirty as your thoughts,” and Yuuri’s hand tightens against Viktor’s chest as he comes with a shout. Viktor strokes him through his release as Yuuri slumps forward and buries his face in Viktor’s neck.

 

“Much better than the onsen,” Yuuri mumbles against Viktor’s skin.

 

Viktor laughs, a low rumble in his chest. “Much better,” he agrees, and Yuuri looks up at him, eyes full and satisfied and so loving that Viktor thinks his heart is going to melt right out of his chest.

 

“Your turn,” Yuuri says.

  


—

  


They have to run a second bath to clean off from the first one, and it’s almost 2:30 by the time they get back to bed, stumbling in and slipping under the covers, curling up close to each other between the cold sheets.

 

“You’re perfect, Yuuri,” Viktor mumbles, kissing Yuuri’s forehead, his nose, all of him that he can reach without really moving his head. “Perfect, perfect…”

 

“Go to sleep,” Yuuri says, a fond laugh on the edge of his words. His hand draws lazy patterns on Viktor’s skin.

 

“Okay,” Viktor says, and he wraps his arms around Yuuri so that he’s completely secure, so that when he wakes up Yuuri will still be right there. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Yuuri says, voice tender and sleepy, and Viktor is blessed, so blessed.

  


—

  


The next time Viktor wakes up, the room is filled with cold winter sunlight, streaming in through the sheer curtains. He’s surrounded by a hot cocoon of blankets and by Yuuri, who has adorably hidden his face in Viktor’s chest in his sleep to avoid the light.

 

This will be Yuuri’s first day waking up in Russia, Viktor realizes, and he wonders if he can make breakfast for him. Breakfast in bed — Yuuri would like that, and Viktor could climb back in with him as he eats and spend a lazy morning cuddling.

 

He always wants to make Yuuri happy, but he’s feeling it extra strong right now, holding Yuuri as he sleeps in the bedroom that Viktor slept in alone for so long. It’s not something that he can entirely put into words, even for himself; he knows that Yuuri decided to move here of his own volition, and it would be ridiculous for him to uproot himself again so soon. He knows that Yuuri wants to be here. And yet.

 

He’ll get up in a minute. Just a minute longer, because he doesn’t want to disturb Yuuri, who is sleeping so peacefully. Maybe five minutes, because he feels so delicious and relaxed against the soft sheets.

 

Maybe part of it is that Yuuri has brought so much love into his life, reminded Viktor how to smile in a way that’s not for the cameras, flooded him with emotions, surprised him and inspired him for the first time in years. And Viktor, who is good for skating and looking pretty and not really that much else, is a little terrified that he might not be enough to keep Yuuri around. Yuuri, who is the best thing that’s happened to Viktor in his entire life.

 

Viktor doesn’t like these thoughts, mostly because he knows they’re false (he knows Yuuri wants him, Yuuri’s not going anywhere) and partially because a tiny part of him worries that they’re true. So he tries to push them away, shifting closer to Yuuri, nuzzling into his hair, quieting his mind with his comforting presence. Yuuri, who is very much here.

 

It’s around minute ten that Viktor remembers that they don’t have any food.

 

Well. There goes that part of the “Make Yuuri Like Russia” plan.

 

They’ll have to go grocery shopping today, Viktor thinks, breathing in the scent of Yuuri’s shampoo. There’s a store nearby, about fifteen minutes away. It snowed through the night, but it’s sunny now, and they can walk, if the weather stays nice.

 

He dozes off again thinking about plans for the day, hovering in the delicious space between sleeping and waking. He knows from experience that Yuuri could easily sleep for another hour at least, but he’s in no rush. There’s nothing they need to do today; the only thing he wants to do is to be with Yuuri, and he’s already accomplished that. Really, there’s no reason why he needs to get up, or stop holding Yuuri, ever.

 

It’s not that much later, however, when Viktor is pulled back to consciousness as Yuuri stirs in his arms, sighing. Viktor opens his eyes in time to see Yuuri squint blearily at him before a slow, warm smile spreads across his face and he brings a hand up to touch the side of Viktor’s face, gentle and reverent, as though making sure that he’s real.

 

Viktor can understand that feeling.

 

“Good morning,” Yuuri says softly, smiling wide and radiant, his voice still rumbly from sleep.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” Viktor says, kissing Yuuri’s forehead.

 

“Hmm.” Yuuri closes his eyes, pressing in against Viktor’s chest, and Viktor’s heart nearly stops. “What’s our plan for today?”

 

“Cuddling,” Viktor says.

 

“Sounds nice.”

 

“I think so too,” Viktor says, and tilts Yuuri’s chin up for a kiss. They both have morning breath, but Viktor really couldn’t care less.

 

Yuuri pulls back after a minute. “Your face is scratchy,” he complains.

 

Viktor grins, nuzzling against his cheek. Yuuri laughs and pushes him away. “Go shave.”

 

“I don’t want to, though,” Viktor says. “I want to stay here with you.”

 

“You can’t kiss me, then.”

 

“Yuuri, you’re so mean,” Viktor pouts. “You weren’t complaining about it last night.”

 

“It wasn’t as bad last night,” Yuuri says. “And I was preoccupied.” He pulls Viktor down into another kiss, in shocking defiance of his own declaration that there was going to be none of that.

 

“Mm, you hypocrite, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor mumbles, as Yuuri presses soft kisses around his lips, his chin, his cheeks.

 

“It tickles,” Yuuri says accusingly, although he can’t seem to pull himself away from Viktor’s face for long enough to give him a proper glare. Viktor isn’t complaining.

 

“I was going to make you breakfast in bed,” he says, when Yuuri exhausts himself and drops his head back down onto the pillow. “But we don’t have any food. Are you hungry? There’s an adorable little bakery we can go to.”

 

“I don’t want to get out of bed yet.”

 

“We can stay here as long as you want,” Viktor assures him, and Yuuri tucks himself more securely into Viktor’s side, hooking his leg between Viktor’s. Viktor smoothes his hand down Yuuri’s arm, humming contentedly into Yuuri’s hair. He’s ready not to move for hours, to stay in bed all day, here in this island of warmth, but then Yuuri’s phone buzzes on the nightstand and Yuuri groans, rolling away to reach for it.

 

“Oh, Mari is calling,” he says, and swipes to answer the call. He squeezes Viktor’s hand and stands up, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and heads into the other room. Viktor sits up and makes a pile of pillows that he can lean against. He can pick out a few words of Yuuri’s rapid Japanese, audible through the open door: “airplane,” “apartment,” “city,” “mom,” “love you.” He hears his own name several times as well.

 

Yuuri comes back several minutes later and Viktor opens his arms, inviting him in. Yuuri crawls effortlessly into his embrace, resting his head on Viktor’s chest again like it belongs there.

 

“What did she say?” Viktor asks, his arms automatically closing around Yuuri.

 

“She wanted to make sure that we’d arrived safely,” Yuuri says. “I guess I forgot to text when we landed. And then, well. You kept me pretty busy.” He bites his lip, looking up at Viktor through his eyelashes, and wow, that’s really unfairly hot. “She asked about you, and Makkachin, and the city. I told her that it’s snowing and we haven’t really left the apartment. Which isn’t a lie.”

 

“Not a lie,” Viktor agrees. “We’ll have to go out today to get some food, at the very least. I want to take you sightseeing and show you the city, too! But we can do that in a couple of days, when the jet lag isn’t so strong.”

 

“That sounds fun,” Yuuri says, taking Viktor’s hand and stroking over the ring on his finger. “I do want to see the city. We also have to take pictures. My mom wants me to send some.”

 

Viktor plays with Yuuri's hair, not looking at him. “Do you, um… Do you miss her? Your family?”

 

“I always do. It's not the first time I've lived away from home, though. And I like— it's nice being here with you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, looking up at Viktor with such an open, loving expression that Viktor can’t do anything else but kiss him because he loves him so, so much that he can’t express it in words.

  


—

  


They finally get up when they get too hungry to enjoy lazing around in bed any longer. They brush their teeth, and Viktor shaves, at Yuuri’s insistence. (Yuuri shaves at his own insistence, unprompted by Viktor.) Afterwards, Viktor helps Yuuri get dressed, completely unnecessarily, because Yuuri is a grown man and can definitely dress himself, but Viktor can’t keep himself away, pulling Yuuri close, sliding his shirt down for him, kneeling down to put on his socks.

 

Yuuri lets him, watching him, partly because he knows Viktor likes to do this and partly, Viktor suspects, because Yuuri likes it too, likes being taken care of, even though he would never ask for it.

 

They really are so compatible.

  


—

  


The bakery is a couple of blocks away. It’s bitingly cold outside in the way clear winter days can be, but they decide to walk there anyway, Yuuri’s hand tucked into Viktor’s pocket. His beanie is pulled down over his ears and his scarf is almost covering his mouth, and he looks so soft and adorable that Viktor just grins at him like an idiot.

 

“What?” Yuuri asks, smiling back.

 

“I’m just happy,” Viktor says, squeezing Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri squeezes back.

 

A bell above the door tinkles as they step into the warm, baked-bread smell of the bakery.

 

“Viktor!” The red-cheeked woman behind the counter lights up when she sees Viktor, slapping her hands on the glass countertop. “I thought we’d never see you again! Are you back for good?”

 

“For now,” Viktor answers easily. “It’s good to see you again, Darya.” He wraps his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, beaming. “This is my fiancé, Yuuri Katsuki! He just won silver in the Grand Prix Finals.”

 

Yuuri is far from fluent in Russian, but he recognizes his name and smiles cautiously at Darya, who gasps and claps her hands together.  

 

“Congratulations! Oh, you’re a beautiful couple, I’m so happy for you. Did you arrive recently?”

 

“Yesterday,” Viktor says. “We moved back here to train at my home rink.”

 

“That’s wonderful,” Darya says, clearly with no concept of what that means. “Well, what can I get for you?”

 

“What do you want, Yuuri?” Viktor asks in English.

 

“None of this is on my diet,” Yuuri says quietly.

 

“As your coach, I say that it’s a special occasion and you should make an exception.”

 

Yuuri graces him with a small, sweet smile and selects a breakfast sandwich, and Viktor relays the order in Russian along with a pumpkin muffin for himself (he gets an exception too, it’s only fair) and a coffee for each of them. If it were warmer, he would take Yuuri to the nearby park, but it’s far too cold for that, so they sit in the booth by the window, squeezed ridiculously onto the same side even though the bench is really only big enough for one person. Darya keeps throwing them pleased looks as she bustles around behind the counter. They eat slowly, holding hands under the table, as the sunlight reflects off the snowy street outside.

  


—

  


They head to the grocery store after leaving the bakery, and by the time they’re done there, carrying their bags of food, it’s started to snow again, lightly, but with a driving wind that hurls the icy particles into their faces. They should have taken the bus, probably, but Yuuri is nothing if not stubborn. “It’s only a fifteen minute walk,” he says, when Viktor suggests getting a taxi. “And these bags aren’t that heavy.”

 

The sidewalks have been cleared, luckily, but the drifts are still high enough that snow gets into Viktor’s shoe when he steps to the side to let an old man pass.

 

“My thighs are numb,” Yuuri groans, shifting the bag he’s holding.

 

“It’s only a couple more blocks,” Viktor says. “And then I’ll warm you up, _solnyshko._ ”

 

“You’d better,” Yuuri says with a huff, tucking his face into his scarf.

 

Viktor has always believed that looking good is more of a priority than being warm, and he runs hot, anyway. Still, his cheeks and ears are freezing by the time they get to their apartment building, stomping the snow from their shoes in the entryway.

 

They take the elevator up to the third floor, and Viktor unlocks the door to the apartment — tomorrow, he’s going to get a second key made for Yuuri — and they deposit their bags on the counter before immediately stripping off their cold, wet clothing. Viktor changes into sweatpants and a soft shirt, and then goes to the linen closet and comes back with a big fluffy blanket draped over his shoulders, which he wraps around Yuuri from behind in a big, warm hug.

 

“Better?” he asks, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“A bit,” Yuuri sighs, leaning back against him.

 

They put the food away without taking the blanket off, one of Viktor’s arms still wrapped snugly around Yuuri’s waist so neither of them can take a step without the other coming along as well. It really isn’t the most practical thing, but Viktor’s never been hugely invested in practicality, especially where Yuuri is involved.

 

After they finish putting everything away, Viktor makes two mugs of hot chocolate (also not on Yuuri’s diet, but Viktor feels like spoiling him a little bit) and they relocate to the couch, Yuuri sitting in Viktor’s lap, both of them still wrapped in the blanket.

 

“Now we don’t have to go outside again for the rest of the day,” Viktor says, and Yuuri relaxes into him.  


“You’re so warm. You’re like my own personal heater.”

 

“It’s how I survive these terrible Russian winters,” Viktor says, snaking his other arm around Yuuri’s waist, holding him tight for maximum heat transmission.

 

“I’ve lived in cold places before,” Yuuri says. “Detroit was freezing. Not to mention that I spend every day surrounded by ice. There’s no reason why I should get so cold.”

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.”

 

Yuuri laces their fingers together, smiling. “Is that a promise?”

 

“Always,” Viktor says, gently kissing the side of Yuuri’s neck.

 

“Good,” Yuuri says, turning his head to catch the corner of Viktor’s mouth.

 

Honestly, Viktor isn’t sure how he ever thought that he was happy, living here alone.

 

He really doesn’t want to move, and Yuuri definitely seems to echo that sentiment by the way he’s planted himself securely on top of him, so they wind up watching a terrible daytime TV drama. Viktor fiddles with the remote for five minutes, trying to turn on subtitles, before giving up in irritation.

 

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’ll help me practice my Russian.”

 

“This really isn’t an excellent example,” Viktor says. “Oh! I’ll have to get some of my favorite movies from when I was a child. We can watch them together. There’s this one about an animated frog that I insisted on watching every week when I was four.”

 

“That sounds fun,” Yuuri says, settling back against Viktor’s chest. “What’s happening in this scene?”

 

“She’s upset because her secret husband revealed that the jewels in the family inheritance are fake.”

 

“Huh,” Yuuri says. “Who’s that guy?”

 

“Her estranged brother, who is also the doctor who had an affair with her real husband’s lover after the coma.”

 

Yuuri glances at him. “You know a lot about this show.”

 

“No. I’m just picking up on context clues.”

 

“Viktor Nikiforov likes trashy soap operas,” Yuuri sing-songs.

 

“Yuuuuri,” Viktor whines, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

Yuuri laughs and pats his head. “It’s okay. I won’t judge you for your terrible taste, Vitya.”

 

“My taste is very refined,” Viktor sniffs.

 

Unfortunately for Viktor, at that moment the woman on the screen rips off her pearl necklace and hurls it at her brother, which is accompanied by an absurdly dramatic music sting. Yuuri takes a sip of his hot chocolate, pointedly saying nothing.

 

“It _is_ ,” Viktor insists.

 

“Well,” Yuuri sighs. “You like me. So I guess I can’t complain too much.”

 

“ _Like_ you? Yuuri, I—”

 

But right then, on the TV, the doctor pushes his sister’s secret husband down the stairs and Viktor gasps, almost spilling his hot chocolate all over Yuuri.

 

“Vitya, oh my God—”

 

“Yuuri, did you see that? Did you see what he just did?”

 

There’s a long, dramatic zoom on the woman’s face, and then the episode ends, the curling script of the credits appearing on the screen. Viktor turns to Yuuri, gaping.

 

“Can you believe they ended it like that? That was so sudden, and the cliffhanger, we have to _wait_ to find out what happens — what do you think she’s going to _do?_ — are you laughing at me?”

 

“No,” Yuuri says, laughing.

 

“Yuuri, you’re so meeean.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, covering his mouth, still giggling. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know this about you. You didn’t watch this kind of stuff in Hasetsu.”

 

“Well, obviously not,” Viktor said, although that wasn’t entirely true — he had streamed a few episodes the first few months that he was there, watching them on his laptop before he went to bed. “They don’t air this in Japan.”

 

Another episode of the same show starts to play — a rerun, Viktor knows, because he remembers this one, it’s when the real husband’s lover was finally revealed.

 

“This is a rerun,” he tells Yuuri, who nods and leans back against him.

 

Yuuri is wearing one of Viktor’s shirts, which is really unfair because he _knows_ how hot that is, and the wide collar reveals the hickeys Viktor left on his skin last night. Viktor can’t help kissing over them, leaving a smudge of chocolate on Yuuri’s skin, which he then licks away.

 

“Vitya, I'm trying to watch the show,” Yuuri says.

 

“You're a terrible liar, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor says, and kisses his neck again. Yuuri takes the hot chocolate out of his hand and sets it down on the coffee table before tilting Viktor’s face up to kiss him properly.

 

The hot chocolate is very cold, by the time they get back to it.

  


—

  


They don’t wind up unpacking that day. They do wind up taking a nap, Viktor’s back pressed comfortably into the back of the couch and Yuuri’s back snugly against his front, covered by the blanket, Makkachin lying heavily over their legs.

 

Viktor wakes up slowly, gradually remembering that his legs belong to him, that his arm is draped over a warm body. He doesn’t open his eyes just yet, nuzzling his cheek into Yuuri’s soft hair.

 

“Hey,” Yuuri whispers. “Are you awake?”

 

“Nnnn,” Viktor says. He blinks his eyes open slowly and peeks over Yuuri’s shoulder to see that Yuuri is scrolling through Instagram, holding the phone sideways so that he doesn’t have to move.

 

“You could have gotten up, Yuuri.”

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Viktor says, folding his arm around Yuuri more securely. “I like waking up with you in my arms.”

 

“I—I like that too,” Yuuri says. Viktor can’t see his face, but he’s probably blushing.

 

“Has Chris posted anything?”

 

“Hm? Oh, not since that selfie with his cat. JJ’s been flooding my feed, actually. More than usual.”

 

“JJ,” Viktor mumbles. “What’s he doing?”

 

“Oh, he and Isabella set a date for their wedding.” He holds up the phone so that Viktor can see a picture of JJ and Isabella posing next to a cake that proudly proclaims _June 22._ The cake is shaped like a skate.

 

“Hashtag _JBella_ ,” Viktor reads.

 

“It’s cute,” Yuuri says. He scrolls down and shows Viktor another photo of JJ and Isabella kissing on a bridge, under a streetlamp. The caption reads, _Can’t wait for her to be my wife! #JBella #weddingofthecentury #JJstyle_

 

“Yuuri, we should do this.”

 

“Well, that would mean we’d have to actually set a date, Vitya.”

 

“What date do you want?”

 

“ _Someone_ said there won’t be a wedding until I win gold. So. No date.” He starts to sit up, but Viktor pulls him back down.

 

“Yuuri, you won gold at Nationals! I kissed it, remember?”

 

“You were talking about the Grand Prix Final gold when you said that, though. International gold. Nationals doesn’t really count.”

 

“You’re the best skater in Japan! Of course it counts.”

 

“I thought Viktor Nikiforov only wanted to marry the best skater in the _world_ ,” Yuuri says.  

 

“I want to marry _you_ ,” Viktor says, holding him tighter. “We can elope tomorrow, if you want.”

 

Yuuri sighs, silent. Then:

 

“Spring would be nice.”

 

“Spring,” Viktor says, smiling. “A spring wedding. So romantic. This spring? We could beat JJ.”

 

Yuuri huffs a laugh. “This spring might be a little rushed, don’t you think? That’s only a few months away. And we’re going to be busy preparing for Worlds. And… I’d like to do it in Hasetsu, if that’s okay. So that my parents can be there.”

 

“Next spring, then?”

 

“If that’s alright with you.”

 

“Yuuri, any time that you want to get married is alright with me,” Viktor says, kissing the back of his neck. “I already think that I’m the luckiest man alive.”

 

“Well,” Yuuri says, “I think that I’m luckier than you.”

 

“Nonsense,” Viktor says. Yuuri shifts, turning over that that they’re face to face, and smiles at him, shy and happy. Viktor kisses his nose. “Next spring in Hasetsu. That will be so pretty. The cherry blossoms will be in bloom.”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, resting his head on his arm.

 

“And don’t worry. I’m certain that you’ll win gold at Worlds this year, anyway.”

 

“Even with you as a fellow competitor?”

 

“I’ll give you a run for your money, certainly,” Viktor says. “You’ll have to work hard if you want to have a shot at beating me.”

 

“I work hard,” Yuuri says, confident, and Viktor’s heart swells. “I broke your world record.”

 

“Which I’m going to win back from you.”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

Viktor hums, unconvinced, and strokes his hand over Yuuri’s hair, pushing it out of his face.

 

“How long are you going to grow your hair, Yuuri?” he asks, running his fingers through the soft strands.

 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says. “It’s not really on purpose. I just don’t feel like cutting it.”

 

“It would look so good tied up in a bun,” Viktor says, imagining Yuuri with his hair in a messy bun. He almost stops breathing. “Or in a ponytail. Or just hanging loose.”

 

“You think everything looks good on me,” Yuuri says accusingly.

 

“That’s because everything does. Except for that horrible unfashionable tie you insist on keeping.”

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I like that tie.”

 

“For some unknown and incomprehensible reason.”

 

“I’m not going to stay here and let you insult my fashion choices,” Yuuri says, sitting up.

 

“Yuu _riii_ , don’t go,” Viktor says, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist. “You were wearing that tie at the banquet where we met, do you remember that?”

 

“I was? I guess I must have been. It was the only tie I brought with me, I think.”

 

“You had it tied around your head when you asked me to be your coach.”

 

Yuuri blushes. “You didn’t think it was unfashionable then, apparently. Seeing how you did show up to be my coach and everything.”

 

“No. It was very unfashionable. _You_ were very attractive, though. And your lack of inhibitions regarding clothing was very fashion-forward.”

 

Yuuri groans. “Oh my God, don’t make me think about that right now.” He gets up and stretches, hands first on the small of his back, then reaching above his head, and then he pads into the kitchen, flipping on the lights. “What should we make for dinner?”

 

Viktor sits up and rests his arm on the back of the couch, watching him. Yuuri is so beautiful. So incredible. And he’s walking around the kitchen in the apartment where they live together, and it’s so domestic that Viktor’s heart hurts.

 

“Vitya?” Yuuri asks, turning towards him.

 

He’s going to marry him next spring.

 

“Let’s see what we have,” Viktor says, getting up and going over to join him.

  


—

  


Viktor takes Makkachin on a quick walk while Yuuri starts preparing the food, and when he comes back, Yuuri has music playing in the kitchen, swaying his hips to the beat as he chops vegetables.

 

Viktor pauses by the door as he takes his shoes and his coat off, his heart twisting strangely. He’s never come back to this apartment to find it full of light and music before. Every other time that he’s come back from walking Makkachin after sunset, the apartment has been as dark and still as he left it.

 

He lets Makkachin off his leash and drifts over to Yuuri, who greets him with a beautiful smile and tips his chin up for a kiss.

 

“You smell like snow,” Yuuri says, after Viktor pulls away.

 

“What does snow smell like?” Viktor asks, hugging Yuuri from behind and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

 

“Cold,” Yuuri says, sliding the vegetables into a large pot and humming along to the song. Viktor doesn’t understand the lyrics, but he recognizes the song — he’s heard it before on Yuuri’s Favorite Songs playlist. He’s pleased that Yuuri’s comfortable enough here to play the music that he likes.

 

“Mm. Will you warm me up, then?”

 

Yuuri laughs. “Of course. But you’ll help me make dinner first, right?”

 

“It would be my honor,” Viktor says, unlatching himself from Yuuri, ready to do whatever he asks. He feels like bouncing up on the tips of his toes, bubbling over from excitement, just from helping his fiancé prepare food for the two of them.

 

A little later, when the soup is simmering on the stove and Makkachin is curled up on the couch after eating his dinner, Viktor takes out the Riesling he’d bought earlier that day.

 

“Yuuri, do you want some wine?”

 

“Sure,” Yuuri says, and so Viktor takes down two wine glasses and pours a glass for each of them. Yuuri stirs the pot on the stove, and when he turns around, Viktor hands him his glass, their fingers brushing as Yuuri takes it from him.

 

“To our new home,” Viktor says, holding his glass up for a toast. Yuuri smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and clinks their glasses together.

 

“To us,” he says softly, and they both take a sip.

 

“Not bad,” Viktor says, looking appreciatively at his glass.  

 

“Phichit used to buy a brand of wine in college,” Yuuri says, “that came in two types: white and red. The bottle would just say, ‘Red.’”

 

“Wow,” Viktor says, sipping again at the wine that he’d paid 2,870 rubles for.

 

“It was better than you’d expect,” Yuuri says.

 

“Did you drink wine a lot?” Viktor needs to know Yuuri’s alcohol preferences. Champagne, obviously, and he knows that Yuuri’s not averse to sake, although he tends not to drink much while he’s training.

 

Viktor likes wine. Viktor wants to know everything.  

 

“Not that often. Wine makes me horny,” Yuuri says, and winks before taking another sip.

 

“Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri just laughs and turns back to the stove. “Will you set the table, Vitya?”

 

For months now, Viktor has spent most of his waking hours with Yuuri, but he still can’t believe how Yuuri will make such a declaration and then immediately move on as though nothing had happened, as though Viktor will just be able to _recover_ from something like that.

 

“Of course,” he says distantly, leaning in to kiss Yuuri’s cheek as he reaches above him to get plates and bowls. He’s completely distracted, though, by the mental image of Yuuri flushed and wanton, several glasses deep. Viktor bumps into the edge of the counter as he’s carrying the plates to the table and Yuuri laughs at him, seeming to know the exact reason for Viktor’s lack of coordination.

 

By the time they sit down to eat, Viktor has himself back under control. And Yuuri, it turns out, can cook very well. It’s the best soup that Viktor’s ever had.

 

“ _Vkusno!_ ” he exclaims after the first mouthful. “Where did you learn to cook like this, Yuuri?”

 

“I learned a bit from my mom, but I mostly taught myself when I was in college,” Yuuri says.

 

“You mean that in addition to studying and skating, you were also cooking every day?” Viktor’s not sure if it should be possible to continue falling in love like this.

 

“Well, it was cheaper if I wasn’t on meal plan, so I quickly learned how to make things that were edible. I wound up making a lot of soups and stews because they were easy and they would last for a while. And it’s not _that_ great, Vitya. I’m eating it too, I know how it tastes.”

 

“You’re selling yourself short, Yuuri,” Viktor says. “You could be a famous chef as well as a world champion figure skater. Wow!”

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, and he does that adorable shoulder wiggle that means that he’s pleased. “That’s ridiculous. No one would have time for that.”

 

“I guess only I will get to enjoy your wonderful cooking, then,” Viktor says. “Lucky me.”

 

They each have another glass of wine as they eat, which turns into two, and then three, and Viktor’s eyes are glued to Yuuri’s mouth as he takes a sip, the way he licks his lips after setting the glass down. Surely his lips can’t be that shiny simply from his tongue? Viktor won’t look away until he can unravel this mystery.

 

“What are you staring at?” Yuuri asks, toying with the stem of his glass.

 

“You,” Viktor says, resting his chin on his hand.

 

“Oh,” Yuuri says, rubbing his neck. He stretches, rolling his shoulders and leaning his head to the side, and Viktor’s gaze is drawn to the hickeys on his neck, looking like they were meant for only him to see.

 

His foot finds Yuuri’s under the table, and Yuuri nudges him playfully. “So where did you want to take me sightseeing?”

 

Viktor wants to put his mouth over the marks he left on Yuuri’s neck, see if he can fit his lips to the shape of each one.

 

“Well,” Viktor starts, and his mouth is so dry that he has to stop and swallow before he tries again. “Well, there’s the Alexander Garden, right in the center of the city,” Viktor says. Yuuri’s foot chases his under the table, his delicate arch sliding up Viktor’s ankle. “The Hermitage Museum. The Grand Palace is hour away, but have you ever seen pictures of the fountains? There are so many gold men.”

 

“Oh, you could kiss all of them,” Yuuri says wryly. “Don’t just take me to the touristy places. I want to get to know the city like a local. What’s _your_ favorite place?”

 

“You’ll get to know the city just by living here,” Viktor says. He could just fall into Yuuri’s eyes and keep falling forever. “But my favorite place to go is this small park by the river. Makkachin likes it, too. I run there sometimes, when it’s warm enough.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Yuuri says. His foot is traveling higher up Viktor’s leg.

 

“It is. It’s very beautiful,” Viktor says, trying not to squirm in his seat. “We’ll go together when the weather permits.”

 

“Are you sure you could keep up with me, when you’re not on a bike?” His lips are sinful, parted slightly, waiting for Viktor’s response.

 

“I set a punishing pace,” Viktor murmurs, staring at Yuuri. “You’ll be the one falling behind if you’re not careful.”

 

“It’s too cold to run outside now, though,” Yuuri says, both of his feet on Viktor’s now. “What do you do when it’s freezing out?”

 

“When it’s freezing,” Viktor says, “I like to stay warm.”

 

“I just moved here,” Yuuri says, fluttering his eyelashes just a bit. He puts his hand on his neck again, right where Viktor wants to put his mouth. Whether he’s doing it on purpose or not, Viktor isn’t sure, but it’s making him lose it. “Do you have any tips on avoiding the cold?”

 

“Oh, I have a few.”

 

“Feel like sharing any of them?”

 

“I could tell you,” Viktor says, wetting his lips. “But I find that I teach better by demonstrating.”

 

“That’s just what my coach says,” Yuuri says. He slides his hand down again, slowly revealing the hickeys under his fingers. His foot skims along Viktor’s thigh. “You’re very similar, you know.”

 

“Your coach, hmm,” Viktor says, concentrating very hard on forming the words. “Is your coach taller than me?”

 

“Only when he’s wearing his skates,” Yuuri says. “He always gives me a demonstration when I ask for one.”

 

“Well, if you’re asking,” Viktor says, leaning forward, “I could certainly provide.”

 

“ _Vitya,_ ” Yuuri says, getting up and taking his plate to the sink, his hips swaying just a bit as he walks. “So forward.”

 

Viktor’s gaze lands on the swell of his ass and stays there as Yuuri turns on the water and begins washing up.

 

“Will you clear the rest of the dishes, Vitenka?” Yuuri says sweetly, like he knows that Viktor is still sitting there staring at his ass. Viktor tears his eyes away from Yuuri and focuses on collecting the dishes that are left on the table. He sets them down in the sink, stepping up next to Yuuri, who says “Thanks,” like he doesn’t know that Viktor is burning up next to him, as if he can’t feel the heat that must be radiating off his skin.

 

“You’re welcome,” Viktor says, and then vanishes into the bathroom, because he has a pretty clear idea of where he wants the rest of this night to go and he wants to get to it as soon as possible.

 

“Oh, you’re back,” Yuuri says, when Viktor returns, announcing his presence by lightly kissing Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri is still washing the dishes, somehow, even though they only had their two bowls and two wine glasses and a couple of plates and utensils from earlier in the day. Viktor wouldn’t put it past him to take fifteen minutes washing up just to tease him.

 

“Is that all the welcome I get, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, pressing up close to him. He’ll make sure to do all the dishes tomorrow, to make up for not helping tonight.

 

“You want to be rewarded for walking across the apartment?” Yuuri puts down the sponge and runs the plate he’s holding under the hot water. Viktor is mesmerized by his hands, the way he rotates the plate before putting it in the drying rack.

 

“Yes,” Viktor says.

 

“I’m doing the dishes, Vitya,” Yuuri says in that sultry voice, low and teasing.

 

“You could be doing me instead,” Viktor whispers smoothly in his ear, sliding his hands around Yuuri’s hips.

 

Yuuri grinds his ass against Viktor’s crotch, driving a gasp out of Viktor’s mouth. Viktor grinds back against him before he can help himself, pulling Yuuri close, pressing his lips to his neck, taking his earlobe in his teeth.

 

“We’re in the kitchen,” Yuuri says, bracing his hands against the counter as he angles his hips back.

 

“Is that a problem?” Viktor purrs.

 

Yuuri reaches forward to turn off the water before he pushes off the counter and turns around in Viktor’s arms, shoving Viktor back against the center island. “Depends what you want,” he says, eyes dark, that dirty, confident grin playing around his lips.

 

Wow, it’s really hot when Yuuri manhandles him, and it’s all Viktor can do maintain some semblance of composure when he’s melting into a boneless mess on the inside as Yuuri pushes up on his toes to lick into Viktor’s mouth, wet and greedy, shoving his leg between Viktor’s thighs. The counter is digging into Viktor’s lower back, but he ignores it, leaning back further to accommodate Yuuri as he presses himself flush against Viktor, hands gripping the countertop on either side of Viktor’s hips, supporting himself as he grinds against Viktor again.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor moans against his lips, and part of him absolutely wants Yuuri to bend him over the counter right here, but he can’t stop kissing him long enough to convey this thought.

 

“I want you,” he says, as soon as Yuuri lets him breathe, and Yuuri immediately closes the distance between them again to run his tongue across Viktor’s bottom lip, hot and wanting.

 

“Bed,” he gasps, pulling away.

 

“Too far away,” Viktor says, running his hands up under Yuuri’s shirt, over the planes of his stomach. “Need you _now._ ”

 

“I know,” Yuuri says, grabbing one of Viktor’s hands. “Come _on._ ”

 

“Couch,” Viktor says, leaning in again, trying to compromise, but even the couch seems like it's miles away, all the way across the room.

 

“Too small,” Yuuri says, tugging him in the direction of the bedroom.

 

Viktor doesn't think it's too small, and also he's not feeling picky, he'd go on the floor right now, face down against the tiles, and he tells Yuuri this.

 

“Jesus,” Yuuri says, pausing, leaning his forehead against Viktor’s chest.

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

Yuuri glances at the floor, considering, then shakes his head. “Not comfortable. You can walk a _few feet_ , Vitya,” he says, and pulls him across the living room towards the bedroom.

 

“I can’t,” Viktor insists, running his hands over all of him that he can reach, trying to pull him close enough that he can kiss him again. “I need you so badly, Yuuri, I’m on fire.”

 

“What did I do to deserve you?” Yuuri asks wonderingly, and Viktor takes advantage of his momentary pause to lean back in towards Yuuri’s mouth, lips reddened, urgent and needy.

 

They do make it into the bedroom, Yuuri leading him, but only in the sense that every time Yuuri takes a step backwards across the room, Viktor follows him, unwilling to stop kissing him even for a second. Yuuri pulls him down onto the bed, sprawled under him, hands circled around Viktor’s wrists. His glasses are gone — probably back in the kitchen somewhere — and he looks so turned on, eyes on fire, face flushed, his shirt rucked up and hair messy from Viktor’s hands.

 

Viktor kisses him sloppily, open mouthed, and Yuuri moans, his hand on Viktor's face, pushing his thumb into Viktor’s mouth along with his tongue.

 

Viktor's aching for him, he wants to be _filled_ , and he’s as desperate as Yuuri looks as he plants his forearms on either side of Yuuri’s head, leaning down into him.

 

“God, you taste so good,” he says into Yuuri’s cheek as Yuuri slides his hands down to cup and squeeze Viktor’s ass. He arches his back, pushing back into his hands as he licks Yuuri’s ear. “Can’t get enough of you, want you in my mouth, want you inside me,” he whispers, and Yuuri shudders, a full-body thing that moves from his shoulders all the way down his spine.

 

“Yeah?” he says, a bit breathless, still with that seductive tone that drives Viktor absolutely insane. “Is that what you want, Vitya?”

 

Viktor kisses him again instead of answering, unable to pull himself away, and Yuuri runs his hands up Viktor’s back under his shirt, pushing it up until it’s high enough that he can pull it off, tossing it onto the floor. This means that they have to separate for a moment, and surely, this will be the thing that kills Viktor, because he has to be touching Yuuri, kissing Yuuri, constantly, or he’s not going to make it, he’s going to expire, pass on from this mortal coil.

 

Yuuri touches Viktor’s chest, seeming to marvel a bit at the firm, sculpted muscle under his hands. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and Viktor makes a frustrated noise because _Yuuri_ is the most beautiful person he’s met in his entire life, and also every moment that Yuuri is talking is a moment that he’s not kissing him. He sits back, pulling Yuuri with him, so that he’s sitting practically on top of Yuuri’s dick, and he swivels his hips, pulling Yuuri’s shirt off as he grinds into him.

 

Yuuri bucks his hips up immediately, grabbing Viktor’s arm as his breath hitches. “Vitya,” he gasps, hips jerking again before he stops himself, a visibly pained look of concentration on his face. “I want you, Vitya, what do you want me to do?”

 

“I want you to fuck me into next week,” Viktor whispers smoothly into his ear, and Yuuri almost growls, heat flashing in his eyes.

 

“God,” he says, resting his head against Viktor’s shoulder for a moment, breathing hot over his skin, before leaning up to lick over the marks he left on Viktor’s neck the night before. “I love seeing these,” he says, with enough heat in his voice to make Viktor moan, hips jerking forward in a short, abortive thrust. “Knowing that you’re mine.” He presses his thumb into the largest one and Viktor gasps at the sweet ache, the memory of Yuuri’s mouth on him.

 

“Yours,” he agrees, rutting into him again, mouthing at the spot where Yuuri’s jaw meets his neck, and Yuuri tilts his head back, tangles his hand in Viktor’s hair.

 

“You’re so unfair,” he says, gasping a little bit. “I was twelve the first time I saw you, Vitya. I haven’t been able to look away since.”

 

“I was twenty-seven the first time I saw you,” Viktor says. “I’d never really lived before that.”

 

Yuuri pulls him down into a deep kiss, tilting his head up to meet up him, rough and demanding, and Viktor gravitates towards him like he’s the sun.

 

He loves when Yuuri gets possessive, loves being the entire focus of his attention; the thing that stands between him and the rest of the world.

 

“Yours, I’m yours, Yuuri, all of me, all yours,” he rambles as they break apart, and Yuuri groans, chasing after his lips with a hard, biting kiss.

 

“Where’s the lube?” he asks, and Viktor wrenches himself away from Yuuri to tear through his suitcase until he finds the bottle, hopping on one foot as he tries to take his sweatpants off and run back to the bed at the same time.

 

He tumbles back into Yuuri’s arms, greeting him with another long, heated kiss, then pecking at his lips as he helps him shuck his pants and underwear off. Yuuri pushes him down onto the bed, his body bouncing slightly as he hits the mattress, and Yuuri leans over him, pulling off Viktor’s underwear and tossing them across the room. He urges Viktor’s legs apart and runs his fingers up Viktor’s inner thigh, reverently touching the hickeys he left there.

 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.  

 

“Yuuri, hurry up,” Viktor pleads, pressing the bottle of lube into his hand, and Yuuri slaps his thigh lightly before sitting back a little and slicking up his fingers.

 

The burn, when he pushes the first finger inside, isn’t anything new, but it’s still enough to draw a long, pleased purr out of Viktor. He bites his lip, watching Yuuri watch him as he slowly moves his finger in and out several times before adding a second one.

 

Yuuri, really, is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, in every scenario and circumstance, but especially now, his eyes half-lidded and dark with desire as he works Viktor open.

 

“Ah, Yuuri,” Viktor says, biting down on high moan, and Yuuri leans forward over him, supporting himself on one arm as he pushes deeper inside of Viktor, twisting his fingers now, rolling them, and Viktor chokes, clutching at the bedspread, at Yuuri.

 

“Look at you,” Yuuri says, amazed. “So open, so hot for me—”

 

Viktor nods helplessly, because he would do anything in the world right now to keep Yuuri here. He’s desperate, and Yuuri’s fingers inside of him feel good but not _enough_ , he needs more—

 

“You want me so badly,” Yuuri continues. “Do you know what it's like to have the most beautiful man in figure skating — in the world — spreading his legs for me, begging to be fucked?”

 

“I do, actually,” Viktor says cheekily. Yuuri’s fingers curl in an absolutely _sinful_ way and Viktor yelps, tossing his head to the side.

 

Yuuri adds a third finger, twisting and prodding deep inside of him, and the stretch is there but Viktor welcomes it, and then Yuuri hits the right spot and Viktor makes a noise that’s almost a shriek, loud and high-pitched.

 

“That’s it,” Yuuri says. He presses in again, hard, and Viktor’s back arches, a ragged moan falling out of his mouth.

 

“Oh, God, yes, Yuuri,” he manages, as pleasure bursts inside him like stars, running thick in his blood, and Yuuri’s gaze on him is like a fire, the light and heat in his eyes burning through Viktor’s skin. “More, harder,” Viktor gasps, and Yuuri complies, fucking him with his fingers and turning Viktor into a sweaty, gasping wreck.

 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready,” Viktor says. “I want you, Yuuri, I want your _cock_ ,” and Yuuri shudders, his eyelids fluttering. He slides his fingers out and slicks up his cock, looking at Viktor intently to make sure that he’s ready before before he positions himself and pushes in slowly, rocking forward with short, gentle thrusts until he’s buried deep, punching a moan out of Viktor’s chest. Yuuri tips his head back as he bottoms out and whispers a stream of curses in Japanese, tightly clutching at Viktor’s hip.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, grabbing his wrist, and Yuuri pauses, looking down at him in concern.

 

Viktor looks up at him, running his tongue over his lips, wanton and shameless, his hair flopping back from his forehead. “Let’s break the bed,” he says evenly, holding eye contact.

 

Viktor isn’t exactly sure what his face looks like, but it must convey some part of the need burning in his stomach, because Yuuri’s whole expression changes and he mutters, “Fuck,” and begins to fuck him in earnest, hips snapping forward in tight, powerful thrusts.

 

Viktor’s mouth falls open and he can’t even make any noise at first, it’s so good. All he can focus on is the sweet burn and the feeling of being so _full_ , filled to the brim. He hooks a leg over Yuuri's hips, his heel digging into the back of his thigh, and the angle is just right, and Viktor’s not sure what noises he’s making now, but all of these moans are definitely not coming from Yuuri, and that’s his own voice that’s begging like that, desperate and out of his mind.

 

“Fuck, Vitya, you feel so good,” Yuuri says, his breath coming in hot pants, and Viktor whines, lifting his head up to catch Yuuri’s lips. His mouth is open and inviting and Viktor is _drowning_ in him, _YuuriYuuriYuuri_ —

 

“I love it when you fuck me,” Viktor says, finding his tongue again, his voice breathy and wrecked. “I love being filled up by you. I want you to do me so right that I can’t even think—”

 

Yuuri cuts him off with a hard kiss. “If you keep saying things like that, I’m not going to last long.”

 

“Not true. You have the best stamina I’ve ever seen, Yuuri. You could go five times without a break,” and he has to break off at the thought of Yuuri fucking him five times in a row without letting him rest.

 

“God,” Yuuri says, pounding into him so hard now that Viktor throws his arms above his head to brace against the headboard. Yuuri’s hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his face flushed and twisted with pleasure, his gasps getting louder until he’s shouting to the room. For the first time ever, Viktor wonders how thick the walls of his apartment are.

 

“Love your,” Viktor gasps, “Nn, love your _voice_ ,” because the sound of Yuuri losing himself like that is one of the single hottest things he’s ever experienced, and he wants to hear more, so he says, “I’m yours, Yuuri, yours, yours,” and Yuuri moans, loud and low in his throat. He leans forward to kiss Viktor’s neck, and the shift in the angle makes Viktor cry out, head tipped back, eyes shut and mouth open.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says. “Do you mind— can I—”

 

“Yes,” Viktor says, not even sure what he's agreeing to, and Yuuri wraps his arms under Viktor’s back and sits up, pulling Viktor with him so that Viktor’s in his lap now, and Yuuri’s thrusting up into him. Viktor moans brokenly, rocking back on Yuuri’s cock, aligning with his fast, hard rhythm. He plants his hands on Yuuri’s chest and lets his head fall back, his eyes closing as all rational thought leaves his mind. This new position is _heavenly_ , Yuuri hitting his prostate on every quick thrust, and all he can think of is Yuuri, Yuuri, surrounding him, filling him, his entire universe.

 

Yuuri’s hand slides down from his waist to his hip, and when Viktor looks back at him Yuuri has turned his head to the side, leaning back on the arm that’s not holding on to Viktor, his face tight with concentration, focused on finding the right angle. But Viktor wants him to _look_ at him, see him, and he slaps Yuuri's chest, the heel of his hand landing above his heart.

 

“Yuuri, look at me,” he gasps out, and Yuuri’s head snaps towards him like it’s on a string, lips parted, eyes blown wide.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, sounding ruined, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

Viktor makes a strangled noise and tries to kiss him, but their mouths keep bumping against each other, and Yuuri pulls back a couple of inches, their panting breaths mingling in the space between them. He kisses Viktor’s chest instead, mouthing over his nipple, making Viktor arch against him.

 

“I want you,” Yuuri gasps, “all the time, you’re the only thing I need, my whole life, Vitya, I—”

 

“You have me,” Viktor says, putting his hands on Yuuri’s face, “You have me, forever,” and Yuuri moans loudly, and apparently judging that Viktor is close to the edge, he finally, finally, puts his hand around Viktor’s aching cock, stroking him, rubbing his thumb over the head, so slick now and messy with precome that Yuuri’s hand just slips over him in a way that makes Viktor clench and groan, long and drawn out, and then he’s coming hard onto his stomach, his vision going blurry for a moment as his eyes roll up. He squeezes tight around Yuuri’s cock in his ass, drawing a high keen out of Yuuri, and when Viktor can focus on him again Yuuri is staring at him, his face blissful and full of desire, and Viktor melts forward onto him, wanting to be touching as much of him as possible, wants all of him.

 

“Yuuri, come inside me,” Viktor says into his ear, and Yuuri shudders, moaning, trembling fingers digging into Viktor’s hip, and after a few more stuttering thrusts Viktor _feels_ him come, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping down to unsuccessfully muffle a scream in Viktor’s shoulder.

 

“That’s it,” Viktor murmurs in Russian, rubbing his hand down Yuuri’s back, “that’s it, so good, so good to me, my Yuuri,” as Yuuri exhales harshly, leaning his head against Viktor’s neck before straightening up and touching their foreheads together, sweetly kissing Viktor’s lips.

 

“Wow,” Yuuri says softly, and Viktor grins, kissing him back, and then Yuuri shifts so that he can pull out and they can collapse down to the mattress together.

 

Viktor still can’t stop touching him, kissing him lazily even after Yuuri wraps his arms around him, settling Viktor close against his body. Viktor has always been a fan of cuddling after sex, but Yuuri is the first person with whom this close physical proximity feels comfortable, natural; he can’t imagine doing anything else. Getting up and walking away? Spending time somewhere else that doesn’t have Yuuri? Completely out of the question.

 

He’s endlessly amazed by Yuuri; amazed, also, that Yuuri seems to have gotten _louder_. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but it seems like Yuuri was, in fact, restraining himself back in Hasetsu.

 

“Wow, Yuuri,” Viktor says, running his hand down Yuuri’s side. “I had no idea that you were _holding back_ before. I’ve never heard you so loud when you fuck me.”

 

“You said you wanted to hear me,” Yuuri mumbles. His accent gets thicker after sex, like his tongue is too loose and relaxed to properly form words in English.

 

“I do,” Viktor assures him, leaning his forearm across Yuuri’s chest and propping himself up. “I love your voice.”

 

Yuuri puts his hands on the sides of Viktor’s head and laughs. “Your hair,” he says. “It’s so messy.”

 

“Your fault,” Viktor says, collapsing back onto Yuuri, warm and heavy. He usually cares a lot about his hair; right now, he doesn’t care at all.

 

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, not sounding sorry at all. He twirls his fingers in Viktor’s hair, making it stand up even more than it already is. “It looks good like this.”

 

“Yuuri likes it messy,” Viktor sing songs.

 

“I like seeing you disheveled,” Yuuri says. “Perfect Viktor Nikiforov, undone for me.”

 

“Did you use to fantasize about that?” Viktor asks, teasing.

 

“A little,” Yuuri admits, turning his face to the side. “Mostly not before I met you, though, because you always looked so flawless. I had a hard time picturing it. It’s a... more recent fantasy.”

 

“Oh yes?”

 

“I don’t know if you remember this, but one day you showed up to the rink looking like you’d just rolled out of bed. It was the first time I’d seen you looking anything close to messy. I think Yurio was there, so it must have been around Onsen on Ice? It was long before we got together, at least, and I remember having the thought — what if you looked like that because of _me_ —” Yuuri laughs a little, hiding his face in Viktor’s hair. “I could barely look at you for the whole day, after that.”

 

“I assure you, if you’d said anything then, I would have been thrilled,” Viktor says, stroking his hand down Yuuri’s side. “Over the moon. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. Not in that way, at least.”

 

“I was being so careful,” Yuuri says. “We were pretty ridiculous, I guess.”

 

“In hindsight,” Viktor agrees.

 

Yuuri runs his fingers through Viktor’s hair. “It didn’t stop after we started dating, though. Wanting to see you undone.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Viktor says. “I’m not blind, you know, I can tell what you like.”

 

Yuuri blushes, and Viktor smirks as an idea occurs to him. “Should I do my next press conference with my hair like this, do you think?”

 

Yuuri’s hand stills on his head. “Are you suggesting that I should fuck you before your next press conference?”

 

Viktor nods, a cheeky grin playing around his lips. “Really give them something to talk about.”

 

“A quickie in the bathroom beforehand,” Yuuri says nonchalantly, clearly trying to hide how very much turned on he is by this idea. “And then you go out and act like everything is normal. I'd do you so good, though, you wouldn't be able to. Everyone would see right through you.”

 

“Yeah?” Viktor says, wiggling closer. “I’m a very good actor, Yuuri.”

 

“Not good enough for this. Look at you right now, I mean, you make it so obvious. It wouldn’t be a secret at all.” Yuuri pauses, running his fingers through Viktor’s hair again. “I like being the only one who gets to see you like this. You look so delicious, Viktor, blissed-out and perfect, everyone would want you even more than they already do.”

 

“No one else can have me, though,” Viktor says, arching his head further into Yuuri’s hand.

 

“No,” Yuuri agrees. “You're all mine.”

 

“Mhmm,” Viktor purrs. “Just for you, darling.”

 

“Lucky me,” Yuuri says, tracing his fingers lightly over Viktor’s back, and Viktor kisses him, slow and easy, until Yuuri shifts against him.

 

“I’m sticky,” he says. “You must be too.”

 

“Shower?”

 

Yuuri grins and pulls Viktor to his feet, leading him into the bathroom. Viktor grabs the bottle of lube to bring with them, just in case.

 

Round two, against the glass wall of the shower, is almost as intense as round one. Yuuri really, really seems to like the fucked-out-at-a-press-conference idea, so much that Viktor sort of considers doing it for real. Whatever embarrassment he might endure would be so worth it, with the reward he’d get from Yuuri. He’s already not on the best terms with the FFKK, so there’s no relationship to ruin there, and he’s never been easily embarrassed, anyway. He’d never be embarrassed by anything connected to Yuuri.

 

When he suggests this to Yuuri, Yuuri digs his fingers into Viktor’s shoulders and comes all over himself with a shout.

 

“You wouldn’t do it,” Yuuri says, when he can speak again. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“I’m not kidding,” Viktor says smoothly. “My next press conference is next month. I won’t forget.”

 

Yuuri closes his eyes. “Vitya,” he groans, hanging off of Viktor. “I just came. Give me a break.”

 

“I will not, my beautiful Yuuri,” Viktor says, running his thumb across Yuuri’s cheek.

 

Yuuri blinks up at him, still heated and hungry. “Aren’t you going to come, too?”

 

“That’s up to you,” Viktor says.

 

“Good thing I’m here for you, then,” Yuuri whispers, leaning in close.

 

It is such a good thing. Such a good thing that Yuuri is here for him, Viktor thinks, leaning heavily into him as he comes down from his post-orgasmic high a couple of minutes later, Yuuri’s arms firm and supportive around him. It’s the best thing in the world.

  


—

  


Viktor wakes up in the morning to see Yuuri propped up on an elbow, staring down at him, eyes soft and a small smile hovering around his lips.

 

“Hi,” Viktor says, smiling up at him. “Were you watching me sleep?”

 

“No,” Yuuri says, blushing.

 

Viktor stretches, slow and luxurious, appreciating the ache in his body and the pleasant contentment of his muscles, and then reaches out for Yuuri, pulling him closer. “That sounds like a lie,” he says, and Yuuri collapses against him, pliant and boneless.

 

“You caught me,” he sighs.

 

Viktor loves every variation of Yuuri, but soft and sleepy morning Yuuri is one of his favorites — the Yuuri that hums as he noses against Viktor’s neck, close enough that Viktor can feel his eyelashes flutter against his skin.

 

“Did you sleep well?” Viktor asks.

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “This bed is really comfortable. And big.”

 

“I like nice things,” Viktor says. “And I didn’t even think you appreciated the size of the bed. You sleep on top of me no matter where we are.”

 

“You’re really comfortable, too,” Yuuri says, and Viktor hums, pulling Yuuri closer for a kiss, then tilts his head to the side so that Yuuri can nuzzle under his jaw, pressing his lips against Viktor’s warm skin.

  
  
"Mm. I like it when you kiss me, Yuuri," Viktor says, his hand splayed against the small of Yuuri’s back.

  
  
Yuuri laughs a little at that. "I know." 

  
"And I like your eyes, and your hair, and the way your skin tastes in the morning, and your smile, and the way your mouth looks when you talk dirty, and the weight of your body when you fall asleep on top of me—"

  
  
Yuuri's blushing by now, but he's smiling, his eyes lowered demurely as though he can't bring himself to look at Viktor's face.

  
  
"And I love how you blush," Viktor adds, stroking his thumb over Yuuri's red cheek. "So pretty."

  
  
"Vitya," Yuuri groans. He buries his face in Viktor's chest. "Don't stop," he says, muffled.

  
  
Viktor laughs and moves his hand up Yuuri's back, petting over his skin in slow patterns. "So good at taking compliments, my Yuuri."

 

Yuuri’s neck is bright red as he says something into Viktor’s chest that sounds a lot like, “I like it when you compliment me.”

 

Viktor grins at that, because he is very, very well acquainted with how much Yuuri likes to be praised.

 

“Your skin is so soft, Yuuri,” he says, still tracing lightly over Yuuri’s back. “And I love the lines of your body, how your neck connects to your shoulder, and how strong you are, your thighs—”

 

Yuuri reaches up and covers Viktor’s mouth with his hand.

 

“You could crush a man,” Viktor says against his palm.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, warning. He takes his hand away.

 

“What?” Viktor asks, innocently.

 

“You know what that does to me,” Yuuri says. He shifts his body against Viktor, resting his head on his chest again. “It’s early.”

 

“It’s not _that_ early,” Viktor says, but he gives Yuuri a break, stroking his hand through his hair in silence.

 

“I guess I should get up,” Yuuri says, after a minute. “There are things I need to do — unpacking, organizing — and we were going to go sightseeing—"

 

Viktor rolls over, taking Yuuri with him so that Viktor’s lying on top now, and he rests on Yuuri with his full weight, driving out a small “oof” from him. Viktor’s pretty heavy, but he knows that Yuuri can handle it, so he doesn’t apologize, just kisses gently at his jaw and neck.

 

“I’m not done with you,” he says. “You can’t go anywhere yet.”

 

“Oh,” Yuuri says, going loose and pliant under him. “Okay.”  


Viktor disregards their morning breath and kisses him slowly, making a project of it, taking his time, because they have all the time in the world. It’s cold and icy outside, but it’s warm in here, and Yuuri is open and accepting under him, welcoming, drinking him in.

 

“So pretty,” Viktor murmurs, when he pulls away for breath, stroking his thumb across Yuuri's lips, and Yuuri blinks slowly, his mouth falling open a tiny bit.

 

Viktor props himself up on his elbows, his forearms on either side of Yuuri’s head, leaning over him so that his hair falls down, the strands brushing against Yuuri’s forehead.

 

“You’re stunning,” he says. “Absolutely amazing. I’m so lucky, Yuuri,” and he’s not entirely surprised when Yuuri rolls his hips against him, slow and sensual.

 

Viktor smiles. “I thought it was too early.”

 

“Shut up,” Yuuri says, and Viktor kisses him again as he responds with his body, moving against him, leisurely and unhurried.

 

They don’t have a ton of room, the way they’re lying, skin to skin, and it’s close and hot, a burn that escalates slowly, slowly, bodies still relaxed and heavy with sleep. Yuuri rests his arms on the pillow above his head and tips his head back, exposing the long column of his throat as he swallows, and Viktor takes the opportunity to kiss his neck, trying to convey all the sweet contentment he feels.

 

He rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, turning slightly to press his lips to the dip of Yuuri’s collarbone before breathing against him, inhaling his scent as they move against each other with slow, lazy thrusts, his hands holding Yuuri’s hands, stretched up above his head, his own head heavy on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

"Mm, Vitya," Yuuri sighs against him, and Viktor is nearly transported to another dimension with joy, because how is this his life? What did he do, to deserve this kind of happiness?

 

“I love you,” Viktor murmurs, and Yuuri laces their fingers together, squeezing his hand in response as their cocks drag against each other.

 

Yuuri is perfect and amazing and wonderful in bed, and Viktor loves everything they do, but he especially loves this, how untroubled and easy and indulgent it is. There’s something so sweet and gentle about sleeping in each other’s arms and then waking up to enjoy each other’s bodies again in the soft morning light.

 

There comes a point, though, when the friction between their bodies is no longer enough, more frustrating than pleasant, and Viktor raises himself up slightly so that he can reach down and take hold of Yuuri’s cock, drawing soft mewling noises out of him as he strokes him off, firm and sure. The only time when Yuuri is quiet in bed is in the morning like this, his body shaking underneath Viktor, trembling close to the edge before he comes in in the space between them. They’re close enough that Viktor can feel Yuuri’s muscles clench and then release, holding tight to Viktor’s hand as he breathes a ragged, gasping sigh past his ear.

 

Viktor catches his lips in a kiss and moves his hand to his own cock, ready to do the same for himself, still keeping Yuuri’s arms trapped above his head with his other hand.

 

“Let me,” Yuuri says, his eyes half-lidded and satisfied but still smoldering as he gazes up at Viktor, and Viktor can’t ever say no to him, so he nods and says, “Yeah, okay,” and then Yuuri does something truly surprising. Viktor’s face must be hilariously wide-eyed and confused as Yuuri pushes him off, letting him fall to the side, but it’s only so that Yuuri can turn over onto his stomach, because he quickly looks back over his shoulder at Viktor and says, almost shyly, “Between my thighs?”

 

Viktor nearly trips over all of his limbs as he scrambles back over to him. Yuuri reaches for the lube in the drawer of the bedside table and spreads it over the inside of his thighs, and then parts his legs so that Viktor can slide his cock in between them before squeezing tight around him, and Viktor bites down on a groan, resting his forehead against the nape of Yuuri’s neck.

 

“Is this okay?” Viktor asks, leaning heavily against Yuuri’s back, and Yuuri nods against the pillow, finding one of Viktor’s hands again.

 

“Yeah, come on,” he says, and Viktor thrusts between his legs, stronger and harder than before, like they’re _fucking_ , his cock brushing against Yuuri’s balls. He was already slick with precome, and with the addition of the lube the slide is easy. He always gets so slick, especially with Yuuri, enough that he might have been embarrassed about it at first if Yuuri hadn’t been very enthusiastically turned on by it right from the start.

 

He ruts down against Yuuri’s thighs, a small whine escaping from him, and Yuuri squeezes his hand, turning his head to catch the corner of Viktor’s lips in a kiss. Viktor chases Yuuri’s mouth, lips brushing together, gasping Yuuri’s name against his lips. He’s still leaning against him, doesn’t want space between them, just enough leverage that he can thrust messily between Yuuri’s legs.

 

“So good, Vitya,” Yuuri says, moving underneath him just a little bit, pressing tighter around him. “You’re so good for me.”

 

The knowledge that Yuuri is doing this just for him twists hard and hot in his stomach, and his runs his teeth lightly across Yuuri’s shoulder as his dick slips between Yuuri’s thick, muscular thighs. He grinds down, pressing against the swell of his perfect ass, moaning a little at the soft, slick slide.

 

“Ah, Yuuri,” Viktor breathes, mouthing against Yuuri’s neck, leaning his forehead against his nape. “Fuck.”

 

He wants to tell Yuuri that he’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Viktor in his entire life, but he’s not very coherent right now, so he just repeats, “Fuck,” followed by a stream of praise in Russian that really doesn’t make any sense but still makes Yuuri shift against him rewardingly.

 

“I like it when you speak Russian to me,” Yuuri whispers, like it’s a secret.

 

“I know you do,” Viktor says in Russian, voice low against Yuuri’s ear. “Lucky for you I can’t manage English right now.”

 

“Mn,” Yuuri bites off, leaning up to kiss him again, hungry and urgent, squirming a little like he wants to move more but is holding himself back. Viktor wonders with a bolt of heat if even Yuuri, with his stunningly short refractory period, would be able to get hard again this quickly.

 

He wouldn’t mind a second round one bit. He could suck Yuuri off while lying on the bed, Yuuri kneeling over him, gently rocking into his mouth, God. Viktor bites his lip at the thought, his hips stuttering as his rhythm breaks down. Yuuri, so pliant under him, open and giving, asking Viktor to fuck his thighs like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and the Yuuri in Viktor’s mind, fucking his face with equal ease when Viktor asks him to. He wants all of him, wants him under him, over him, in him, because Yuuri is so hot it’s not _fair_ , and oh—

 

He drops his head against Yuuri’s shoulder when he comes, curling his toes, breathing harshly against his skin. Yuuri pulls their joined hands to his mouth to kiss over Viktor’s fingers, pausing extra long over his ring, his long dark eyelashes fluttering. Viktor drapes himself over Yuuri, kissing along the top of his shoulder.

 

“What made you think of doing that?” he asks, running a hand down Yuuri’s side.

 

“You said you liked my thighs,” Yuuri says, lifting his head so he can catch Viktor’s lips in a sweet kiss.

 

“You’re incredible," Viktor says, before rolling off of him, freeing him from his weight.

 

“Does this mean you’re done with me now?” Yuuri asks, echoing Viktor’s words from earlier, resting his chin on his hand.

 

“Never,” Viktor says, pulling him close. “Yuuri, love, light of my life, I’ll never be done with you.”

 

“Good,” Yuuri sighs, curling up against him. “I’ll never be done with you, either.”  


Viktor feels so warm and light that part of him insists these feelings must belong to someone else. There's no way that something this perfect can be his life.

 

But this is this bed, with the sunlight streaming across the rumpled duvet. This is his body, drifting blissfully, and this is his fiancé, one leg hooked through Viktor’s, one hand resting lightly on his chest, his ring glinting in the morning light.

 

This is his home.

 

Before, Viktor thinks, St. Petersburg was home only in the sense that it was the place where he lived; he never felt any particular sense of homecoming when he returned.

 

Hasetsu is far closer to home for him, in fact, because he associates it so deeply with Yuuri; Hasetsu, which opened its arms to him, which gave him life and love in the form of this beautiful man.

 

But anywhere would feel empty and cold, without Yuuri; Yuuri brings sunshine into every place he visits. Like flowers, blooming, Viktor gravitates towards the light.

 

Right now, the light covers both of them, as Viktor kisses Yuuri’s forehead, as Makkachin trots into the room and jumps onto the bed to see what his favorite people are doing. Watching Yuuri laugh and hug the dog, Viktor has a thick feeling in his throat, somewhat like tears. If someone had asked him before, he wouldn’t have said that he was unhappy. But he’s learned over the past year that he really didn’t know what happiness was, back then.

 

He’s learned so much, through Yuuri, and what he feels now is indescribable in comparison to the meager things he used to call emotions. He doesn’t have words for it; the way that he’s filled like a cup, like a chalice, with the precious warmth of the present and the promise of a future brimming over with light.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing smut, so go easy on me! 
> 
> Just a note about the timeline: after Russian Nationals, Viktor went back to Hasetsu to help Yuuri pack up for the move. You know he would. 
> 
> Also, I figure at this point in their relationship they already went and got tested for STIs (they went together, it was very romantic) which is why they aren't using a condom.
> 
> Come yell with me on tumblr at [softboyyuuri](http://softboyyuuri.tumblr.com)! and at my nsfw viktuuri sideblog, [yuurispasteldildo](http://yuurispasteldildo.tumblr.com). :)
> 
> EDIT:  
> THANK YOU all so much for the incredibly kind comments <3 each one is like a warm hug. It really means so much to me to know that people are enjoying this, I am so happy. :')


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